


The Kaleidoscope Charm, or 50 Shades of Rainbow Magic

by Omi_Ohmy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Colors, Dreams, Elemental Magic, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omi_Ohmy/pseuds/Omi_Ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting Draco Malfoy as a boss was not the worst thing that happened to Harry; getting a crush on him was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kaleidoscope Charm, or 50 Shades of Rainbow Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiftylinguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/gifts).



> Er, I’m not sure what happened here. I had one story idea, then another, then another, and then I decided that smooshing them all together would be a good idea. I loved your prompts/likes, dear shiftylinguini (thank you, mods, for such a wonderful match), and I’ve had great fun writing this for you. I love the life in your artwork, especially in how expressive your faces are and I’ve tried in my own, writerly way, to capture something of that.  
> Thanks to E for the awesome beta. <3

 

*********

_Prologue_

The light had begun to shift, as somewhere above the low grey clouds the sun set above London. The city had felt folded in on itself with cold days and long nights as autumn came to an end, but this evening felt different to Harry’s usual wintry walk home. Jewel-like street lights broke through the gloom, and as Harry waited to cross the road, he nodded at the three-man band playing beside him. The music lifted his spirits, and by the time the traffic had stopped and he could cross he was smiling.

Feeling buoyant, Harry looked in at each of the shop windows as he walked home. The posh shirt shop was empty, the mannequins as perfectly turned out as ever. Tired looking commuters queued for their microwave ready meals in the supermarkets, but people were also still buying coffee and laughing in small groups in the cafés dotted along the way.

A gleam of silver caught Harry’s eyes as he passed a small antiques shop, out of place beside a Chinese restaurant and a bike shop. He was overwhelmed for a brief moment by the sheer volume of objects crammed into the small shop. Tables, chairs, sideboards and slender cabinets vied for space with no less than three statues, all of angels. The nearest angel was the one that had initially caught his eye. Harry had never seen such a shiny statue before; it looked chrome-plated. The angel’s arms and head were flung back, her body a graceful arch.

Behind the shiny angel though, another stood, so large it was probably slightly bigger than Harry. It was bronze, not silver-bright. Its robes flowed out and around it, making it appear to float in some mystical breeze. Not its, his. His features were delicate, yet the angel radiated a sense of strength as well as fragility. Harry stood, buses belching behind him, transfixed by the angel’s beauty.

*

“Harry,” Hermione said, as soon as she walked into his living room. “What is that?”

The angel was far too big for the space – even in as huge a living room as the one at Grimmauld Place. Harry had been unable to stop thinking about the angel’s expression, peaceful yet sorrowful and filled with a quiet power he felt quite unable to put in words. He’d returned to the shop that weekend, his heart racing as he rounded the corner in case it had already been sold.

“My angel. I just… I think it’s beautiful.” _He_ his mind added. _He’s beautiful._ Harry had positioned the angel so that he could see it from his armchair by the fire, because this felt more intimate somehow than the angel showing his face to all the world.

“It’s…” For once, Hermione seemed lost for words. “It’s quite something.”

“Yes.”

They settled into the armchairs by the fire, and although Hermione didn’t mention the angel again, Harry caught her looking over at it from time to time, a distracted frown on her face. Their conversation that evening had no real focus, which suited Harry fine as he was tired by a long day at work in the Auror office. He could sense though, that when she was ready Hermione would have more to say.

*

Ron was less polite.

“Blimey, mate,” he said, setting his cup of tea on the side as he walked into the living room. “It’s even bigger than Hermione said.” He turned to Harry. “What were you thinking?”

Harry squirmed. Perhaps he should have put it in his bedroom instead, after all. There would have been far fewer questions that way. “I liked it, so I bought it,” he said, hoping that would be enough to satisfy Ron.

“It’s not exactly a new lamp though, is it?” Ron said, moving closer to the angel. Harry had to resist the urge to pull Ron away when he reached out a finger to trace one of the flowing bronze streams of fabric that appeared to float around the angel. “I mean, it’s quite… special, I’ll give you that, but it’s—”

Although Harry couldn’t see Ron’s face he could see the way Ron’s back stiffened as he walked around the statue to face it properly. Ron remained where he was, a strangely still mirror to the statue, without speaking.

“Er, Ron? Are you OK?”

Ron made the strangled spluttering noise again. “You liked it?” He asked in a squeezed voice, without turning around.

“He’s beautiful,” Harry said, feeling a little defensive. “I like looking at him.”

“Him?”

“He’s not a woman, is he?”

Ron’s hand fell limply to his side, then he finally turned to face Harry. His face was paler than normal and his eyes a little wide. “No. Not a woman,” he said. He paused, swallowed, and screwed up his face as though trying to be brave. “Er, Harry, do you see what I see when I look at this angel?”

“How can I know what you see?”

Ron’s mouth pulled into a slight grimace. “Your statue… this angel…”

“Yes?”

“Does he look like anyone you know?”

Harry came round to peer at the serene bronze face and considered Ron’s question. “No,” he said. “He looks…” he cast around the right words. “He looks more like an emotion, or a moment to me. When I look at him, my heart does this little flip of recognition.” Harry put his hand on his chest as he said this. “It’s not because he looks like anyone I know, it’s more because I get it, that feeling of sadness.” He tapped his hand on his chest and left it there a moment before lowering it.

“Right.” Ron still looked a little wide-eyed — terrified Harry would have assumed, if he hadn’t known better. What could be terrifying about an angel statue in his best friend’s living room? “I see.” He sat in the nearest chair and put his hand on his mouth. “I see,” he added, his words half muffled by his hand.

“Do we need to talk about this right now?” Harry asked. “I know it’s not the most normal thing, buying some huge statue and having it in my living room, but it would be nice to not have to keep explaining it.”

Ron nodded, took one more look at the statue, then turned his back on it for the rest of his visit.

*

By the time Luna popped in for a cup of tea – it was amazing how many thirsty friends he had ‘just passing by’ once word got out about the statue – Harry was playing bingo with people’s reactions and comments.

Luna, of course, bucked the trend by neither spluttering, going red, asking questions about it looking familiar, nor pronouncing him mad. Instead, she took one look at it and threw back her head and laughed. Once she’d recovered herself and wiped the tears from her eyes, she swept Harry up in a hug. “It all makes sense now,” she whispered into his ear, before pulling back and beaming at him.

*

In the end, Harry got fed up with explaining the angel, or dealing with everyone’s not-so-subtle double takes and glances, and moved the angel up to one of his spare bedrooms. He still liked to visit it, each time thrilling at the shock of seeing something so beautiful in his home. Kreacher kept it dust free, and seemed to have taken almost as much of a shine to it as Harry.

The more time that passed, however, the less frequent became Harry’s visits. Sometimes when Harry went to bed his thoughts would wander to the angel standing guard on the other side of this bedroom wall, and he would fall asleep with a smile on his face and dream about beautiful sadness, elegant arms and flying free into the sunset.

*********

On the morning of Harry’s 24th birthday he walked into work with a cake box under his arm and his thoughts on the case he was working on. He would have to contact the new Curse and Lock Breaking Department, which had partly evolved from Arthur’s former Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects (he had since returned to the simpler Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office) about the curses being left on letter boxes in East Sussex—

Harry stopped, and nearly dropped the cake at the sight of a tall, black-robed Draco Malfoy sitting at his desk. No, not sitting: lounging. He looked as though he belonged in the kind of drinking establishment where elegant men slouched artfully with cigarettes gracefully in the fingers or at their lips. As Harry began a strangled noise, half question, half surprise, Kingsley appeared out of nowhere to take the cake from Harry, and set it on a nearby desk before propelling Harry to his office.

“Happy Birthday, Harry.”

“What is Draco Malfoy doing, sitting at my desk with his feet up on it?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought that you might want to liaise with Curse and Lock Breaking, and he’s who they sent.”

“Draco sodding _Malfoy_ works in Curse and Lock Breaking? When did that happen?”

“He only joined the team recently, but his credentials are impeccable. He’s been working in Switzerland the past five years, heading their version of Gringotts’ Curse-Breakers.”

Harry whistled. Everyone knew how fiercely the Swiss guarded their banks. Unbidden though, an image of Malfoy on a grassy hillside, laughing in the sun and speaking fluent French, German or Italian while the sun glinted off distant mountains came to Harry’s mind. He pushed it aside as irrelevant, blaming too much TV-watching for the strange intrusion. And then a horrible thought occurred to him.

“When you say he headed the Swiss version, does that mean...?”

“Yes; he’s heading the new department here now.”

Harry sat down heavily. “No one’s going to accept that, are they? His father might not have ended up in Azkaban, but I’m certain I’m not the only person who thinks he should have.”

Kingsley looked awkward at this; Harry knew that he was one of the people who thought so, too. “It doesn’t matter what people think, Draco will do a good job. And we might remember the past, but there are plenty of people who only want to get on with living their lives.” Kingsley gave a low rumble of a tired laugh. “Everyone’s moving on, Harry.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Harry said. He never ceased to be amazed at how fast people were forgetting what felt to him to be the very recent past. There were teenagers at Hogwarts for whom the second wizarding war was already becoming a vague story their parents told, blurry memories of shops boarded up, but not anything with any real personal meaning. But at least they would be able to enjoy their school days without worrying about Basilisks or unicorn-killers. What else had Harry and his friends fought for, but this? A blissfully forgetful and ignorant peace. “Better than keeping the old divides alive,” he said.

“So you’ll work with him?” Kingsley asked.

Harry hesitated before answering. There seemed nothing peaceful about his memories of Malfoy, but at the same time, perhaps it was time to grow up a bit. If the Ministry were willing to let Malfoy head their new department…

“Yes,” Harry said. He sighed. “You’re far too good at talking me into these things.”

“That’s why I’m the Minister, not you.”

Harry smiled, conceding defeat. He had no plans on ever being Minister, and besides, he liked and respected Kingsley enough to trust him on this. He stood, drawing their little meeting to a close. “Come back to the Auror office and have some cake.”

Kingsley laughed. “I’ve only just sat down, but why not.”

When they got back to the Auror office everyone was working very hard – or appearing to. No one was talking to Malfoy, and he was still sitting on Harry’s chair, although his feet were no longer propped up on the desk. He looked pale, his face locked and expressionless. Harry hadn’t noticed before how slight Malfoy was, the black of his robes hanging off him in a way that made Harry wonder if this was how Molly felt when she looked at him: Malfoy looked in need of a good meal or two.

Somehow every Auror in the department was managing to stare at them without actually looking – or rather without Harry seeing any of them stare. He could feel the force of their scrutiny, though; it was a familiar enough feeling, being the centre of attention, but one he didn’t expect at work. Ron in particular, looked most peculiar: his face was contorting into a range of expressions as his eyes flicked between Harry, Malfoy, and when he remembered it, his work. It was as though he was trying to convey a message, or ask a question, but Harry had no idea what.

Deciding that he wasn’t going to let Malfoy stop him from celebrating his birthday, Harry opened the cake box, cleared his throat, and addressed the office. All heads popped up as soon as started talking. “As you know it’s my birthday today. I’ve got cake for you all, and I’ll have some with you before I leave with Malf— er, with Draco Malfoy, who is heading the new Curse and Lock Breaking department. I’m going to be, er—”

“Liaising,” Kinsgley supplied.

“—liaising with the Curse and Lock Breakers, so I will be based there for a while.”

A growing murmur of chat swept around the office, followed by a half-hearted rendition of Happy Birthday. Harry cut up his cake as quickly as he could, then helped himself, Kingsley, and Malfoy to a slice, at which point Ron took over. Kingsley tucked in, but Harry had barely taken two bites before Malfoy cleared his throat, frowned at Harry, and pushed the plate of cake aside. He now looked both bored and impatient.

“Come along, Potter.” Malfoy swept his robes up and he stood, his slice of cake untouched on Harry’s desk. He stalked out of the Auror office without checking to see if Harry followed. All pretence of work and cake-eating was abandoned; everyone stared at Malfoy, their heads swivelling to have a good look at Harry, too. It did occur to Harry that he could remain where he was, finish his cake, and let Malfoy swan off, and it seemed like a good idea, except that Harry didn’t actually know where Malfoy was going. He reluctantly left his colleagues behind, and hurried after Malfoy, cake half-squashed into a paper napkin.

“Are you always this slow?” Malfoy asked, as soon as Harry caught up. “I had thought that being an Auror you’d be capable of moving a little more quickly.”

“I’m perfectly capable of—” Harry broke off as Malfoy spun on his heel, and backed Harry into the Level 2 corridor wall.

“Let us get one thing clear,” Malfoy said. “It doesn’t matter to me that you are the Chosen One, or the great hero of the war. I don’t care what our… history is. I only want to do a good job, and if you’re the Auror I’ve been assigned then you’re expected to meet the same high standards as anyone else in my office.”

Harry’s heart was beating alarmingly fast, and he cursed himself for letting Malfoy surprise him like that.

“I—”

“I’m not willing to argue every point with you. Will you,” and Malfoy took a step closer, so his next words brushed against Harry in a rush of hot air, “work to my standards, will you learn how things work in my department?” He paused before adding, “As head of department, I am technically superior to you. When push comes to shove, you will remember that.” His eyes were steely as he finished, “So, will you take direction from me?”

“I… I will,” said Harry, grudging every bit of loyalty he felt to the Ministry in general, and Kingsley in particular.

He followed Malfoy, half running to keep up with him the rest of the way. He managed to get a bite or two of cake, despite being able to feel disapproval at his messy eating on the hoof coming off Malfoy in waves. A couple of times Harry saw Malfoy glare at the crumb trail he was leaving, but thankfully he said nothing.

With a dramatic flourish that had Harry rolling his eyes, Malfoy pushed open the doors to the new department.

Everything in the room gleamed. White walls and neat desks filled the room – along with the smell of fresh paint and new furniture – but Harry’s eyes were drawn to the wall filled from floor to ceiling with drawers or doors ranging in size from that of a washing machine to small enough to house only a thimble. Each door was a different colour, and each was closed with some form of lock. A ladder, fixed to rails along the ceiling and floor, gave access to the higher boxes.

“Wow,” Harry said. “That’s a lot of locks.”

“The locks aren’t the locks,” said Malfoy. “Or rather, some are, others preserve complex charms within, or are visual representations of charms not normally visible to the naked eye.”

“And how can you tell which is which?”

“We operate a colour coded system,” Malfoy said. “Magenta through to puce are the invisible charms – watch out for that mauve door, it’s particularly nasty – and viridian through to olive are simple locking mechanisms, while cerulean through to—” Malfoy stopped when he saw the look on Harry’s face. “You don’t know all your colour names, do you?”

“I know red, orange, yellow, blue, green, and so on,” said Harry, feeling defensive. “There hasn’t been much call for anything more.”

“Well, there is now. Here, take this,” Malfoy pulled a tightly rolled parchment from a basket of parchments near the door. “It’s the key to our system.”

Malfoy swept off to his office in the corner, and left Harry with his scroll and a pile of books, and instructions to try to familiarise himself with a few basic curse-breaking principles, before they continued on the cursed letter box case the next day. Harry unrolled the scroll, goggling at the bright wheel of colours and what seemed to be hundreds of spell and colour names, along with notes, crammed into and around each section.

*

That night, Ron was waiting for Harry in the Atrium. He looked uncertain, and seemed to muster his courage before speaking. “How, er, how was your day?”

“Bloody awful, what do you think?” Harry said. “Malfoy has zero sense of humour, and a real stick up his arse about doing things ‘properly’. And despite claiming that he just wanted to get on with his work, he still spent all day insulting me in every way from subtle to outright.”

Ron looked relieved. “Still a git then?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “He might be reformed and ‘highly trained in complex charms’, but that doesn’t make him any less of a prick than he’s ever been.”

“Pint?” Ron asked, nodding to the bank of gilded fireplaces lining the hall.

Harry grimaced and shook his head. “Can’t. He wants me to be at the office at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning. Something to do with air currents or… well, I can’t really remember.”

Ron winced in sympathy, but hurried off anyway. Harry returned to his huge, empty house and his miserable house-elf, hoping that by some miracle when he came back in the morning, Malfoy would be a little more bearable.

*

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Harry fell more than walked through the door to the Curse and Lock Breaking office. Malfoy, of course, was already there. No one else was.

“Come along, Potter,” was Malfoy’s only greeting. He was yet again dressed head to toe in black, which Harry suspected was a kind of uniform for him. It left his skin looking too pale, his cheeks all stark cheekbone and dark hollows.

Harry stifled a yawn. His sleep had been punctuated by dreams of giant keys and locks that had chased him over a rainbow landscape. The effect had been quite nauseating. “I think we should go to Norwich first,” he said. “Get a proper look at these letter boxes. Reading about them isn’t the same as seeing them properly.”

Malfoy regarded him almost suspiciously. “I agree,” he said. He jabbed at the area marked out by pins on the map of Norwich fixed to the wall. “There’s a reason the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office passed this on to the Aurors; the nature of these curses suggests a darker magic than normally found in these cases.”

“You think so too?” Harry had spent the past week defending the use of Aurors on this case. While he’d been asking for support on the magic front, Proudfoot and Savage had been grumbling about Arthur Weasley wasting their time with Muggle problems.

“Yes.” Malfoy turned abruptly away. “Before we leave I want to collect a few things.” He marched to the wall of locks, and swung the wall-high ladder along its railings. Harry watched as Malfoy climbed halfway up, then rifled through four of the pink-to-reddish drawers.

Half an hour later, Harry was carrying a glass orb, a small wooden box, and a stick in a leather bag as they traipsed through an area of housing that looked like an exact replica of Little Whinging.

“Why am I carrying everything?”

“I might as well make good use of you.”

“You can’t—”

“That wasn’t a serious answer. And stop distracting me: I’m looking for clues.” Malfoy continued stalking along the pavements, his eyes darting from house to house, his movements quick yet precise.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“Shh.”

Not talking suited Harry fine. He followed Malfoy, the sight of his skinny, robed body marching ahead strangely familiar. Harry had, after all, spent a considerable amount of time at school following Malfoy around. It was odd to think that this time Malfoy wasn’t up to any suspicious or nefarious activities. The opposite, in fact.

This was almost worse. Before, Harry had only suspected Malfoy’s intentions, but now he knew exactly what Malfoy had done during the war. Everyone did: letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, poisoning Ron…

But then again, Harry also still remembered the sight of Malfoy lying in a pool of his own blood on the bathroom floor.

“—I said, could you pass me the orb, Potter?”

Harry realised Malfoy had stopped walking, and was gesturing to him instead.

“Please,” Harry prompted. If Malfoy was going to boss him around, he could at least do so politely.

“I said please but you weren’t listening.” Malfoy frowned, and held out his hand again. “The orb. Please.”

Harry unfastened the leather satchel it rested in, and handed the orb to Malfoy. “What about Muggles seeing us?”

“I’ve got that covered,” Malfoy said. “Now kindly don’t interrupt again.” He muttered something under his breath that sound suspiciously like ‘bloody interfering Shacklebolt,’ and pointed a surreptitious wand at the orb. It began to glow a vivid shade of pink.

“Er,” said Harry, seeing a nearby curtain twitch.

“Not now,” said Malfoy, scowling. He held the orb in front of him, and turned a slow, full, circle. Just before he reached his starting point, the glow changed slightly, becoming lighter for a moment. “Aha!”

“Is that a, um…” Harry struggled to remember the curse-breaking summary he’d read the day before. “Is that a locating spell?”

Malfoy ignored Harry, and instead passed his wand over the orb in a complicated series of sweeps. The orb began to emit a faint pinging noise. Malfoy held it up, and peered through it, turning on the spot to examine all the houses on the close. “Aha!” he said, before walking away from Harry, stepping neatly over a low wall until he was standing at the front door of one of the houses opposite.

Harry quickly joined him, aware that so far most of his time had been spent in following and catching up with Malfoy. And carrying his bags.

“Don’t come too close,” Malfoy said. “This letter box wasn’t on the list we were given.”

“It’s still active?”

“Very much so.” Malfoy’s voice was slightly strained, and his whole body was held still; Harry could almost see the effort of his not moving a single muscle.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Approach me as slowly as you can, and take the orb while I look at the letter box.”

The orb, once Harry touched it, was vibrating enough that he was worried he might drop it. Holding on with both hands – and wondering how Malfoy had managed it with one – Harry watched Malfoy get to work on the letter box.

Malfoy’s wand traced a complicated knot of light in the air. The knots expanded to encircle the letter box, which began to rattle.

“What if someone’s—”

“Shh!”

Harry shushed. The letter box was now beginning to look blurred somehow, as the lines of magic became indistinguishable from the metal. If Harry hadn’t been clinging onto the still-vibrating orb, he would have cleaned his glasses. Slowly it began to glow a reddish pink, before melting into a white-hot vaguely letter box-shaped blob. Harry could feel the heat of it from where he stood. The orb in his hand began to vibrate harder, and Harry tightened his grip on it. He almost dropped it though, when he saw that the orb was now a deep and brilliant blue. He looked back up as the letter box melted entirely and slid down the door, leaving dark scorch marks behind it. Abruptly, the orb stopped vibrating.

“Er, was it supposed to do that?”

“Not really,” Malfoy said. Then he pointed his wand at the pool of cooling metal on the doorstep, and Harry watched as the metal rose and reformed, the scorch marks fading as the letter box returned to its original state. “That was a much nastier curse than I’d been led to believe.”

The orb was now clear glass again; it looked like one of Trelawney’s crystal balls.

A rough shout from behind broke Harry’s reverie. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The curtain-twitcher had opened their front door and shouted across the road at them. Before Harry could draw breath to respond, Malfoy was marching over, his robes swishing impressively around his legs. Yet again, Harry hurried to catch up, although not until he’d shoved the orb back into its bag.

“I do apologise, madam,” Malfoy was saying. “We really should have warned you first.” He leant forward conspiratorially. “We’re filming a candid camera piece for your neighbour.”

“I don’t see any cameras.” The woman folded her arms and glared at them both.

“They’re hidden,” Malfoy said, with the air of a man with an infinite supply of patience. Harry stared at him: he’d never seen Malfoy talk in such gentle tones before. “But don’t worry, we’re not filming you now.” He smiled, all teeth and charm. “We can’t, not without the proper release forms. But…”

“Yes?”

“Maybe my assistant can find you one.” Malfoy turned to Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me the neighbours were so… _perfect_ for the camera. He whispered to the woman, “you have a very photogenic face, my dear.”

“I—” Harry stuttered.

“You didn’t even check, did you?” Malfoy swept back to focus on the wide-eyed woman at the door, who was now surreptitiously patting her hair into place. “I’m so sorry my assistant is such an idiot.” Malfoy held out a hand to Harry. “A form, Neville, if you please.”

“Oh, right,” said Harry, at a loss: he didn’t have any forms on him, nor could he see how he could get his wand out to make one or Confund her.

“Front pocket,” Malfoy said in a bored drawl.

There was indeed a thick sheaf of release forms and biros in the front pocket of the satchel. The woman signed willingly, as Malfoy smoothly gave her the details of the imagined TV show in what sounded like a much-practiced patter.

As they walked away, Harry looked at Malfoy in wonder. “You’ve done that before, haven’t you?”

“Quick off the mark, aren’t you.”

“But… how do you know so much about Muggle culture?”

“I’m a quick study.”

“But—”

“Save your questions for later. I want to stay in the area, and have a chance to make some notes. That letter box was far more…” Malfoy trailed off, and Harry waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Instead the two of them walked out of the close, and towards the main road.

*

They found a small café half a mile into town, and sat down to two strong cups of tea.

“I thought this kind of place would be beneath you.”

“Must you be so insulting? I’m not the person you knew at school, and besides, it detracts somewhat from the fact we’re supposed to be a team.”

Harry almost spat his tea back up. He and Malfoy, a team? He hadn’t thought of it like that. He suspected that Kingsley had though, damn the man. Instead of insulting Malfoy again – and slightly chagrined at the realisation that Malfoy was being the more mature of the two of them – Harry turned his mind to the case.

“You found a new letter box, as yet undetected by the Aurors or your team.”

“And the spellwork on it was more complex than I’d been led to believe.”

Harry unfolded a map of Norwich, and pointed to the cluster of red dots on one side. He saw now that they were not uniformly red, but a mix of shades of almost orange and pink. “These are charmed to show the nature of the Curses used?” he asked.

“Yes.” Malfoy looked around then gently tapped the map with his wand. Another dot appeared. “Here’s the one I just dealt with.”

“What about this area, here?” Harry touched his finger to a blank space near the centre of the dots. “Could it be as simple as looking for where the dots aren’t?”

Malfoy frowned. “Perhaps.”

“What about the magic used – what did you learn today?”

“Well, I learned that each spell has grown more complex, harder to unravel. That was the first letter box to actually melt.”

“So, the witch or wizard behind this is growing more confident, or refining their spellwork?”

“It’s a witch,” Malfoy said absently.

“How can you know?”

“Magical signature. It… this is going to sound odd, but it _feels_ female.” Malfoy shrugged. “I’ve learned to trust my instincts on things like this.”

Harry regarded Malfoy for a moment. His long, pale fingers were curled around the mug of tea as though for warmth, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Surprising himself, Harry realised that he trusted Malfoy’s instincts. This time, at least. “Do your instincts tell you anything else about this witch?”

Grey eyes rose to meet Harry in surprise; Malfoy obviously hadn’t expected to be believed so quickly. They sat in silence, adjusting to this shift in their… their new partnership. It did actually feel like it could be one, Harry realised.

Malfoy seemed to shake off the moment, then closed his eyes, as though trying to feel his way through whatever information he’d gathered magically or via his instincts. “She’s not young, not old, either. I sense… conflicted feelings about Muggles. Dislike but also familiarity? The magic feels new. There’s… excitement running through it.”

“Excitement at it being new?”

Malfoy’s eyes snapped open. “Yes, precisely.”

Harry’s mind was whirring, as this new information filtered through. “Could she be… someone who sees herself as both a Muggle and a witch?” His mind made a leap. “A Squib whose magic has somehow gone from dormant to active?”

They stared at each other. Malfoy’s mouth twitched as though he were trying out the idea before saying it aloud.

“Yes. That would fit, absolutely.”

“Malfoy, this blank area, does it look familiar to you?”

Malfoy looked at the map, then up at Harry with a startled expression. Wordlessly, Harry got out the release form signed earlier and handed it to Malfoy.

“Distract the others,” Malfoy said, and Harry nodded once. He rose, took his half-drunk tea with him, and managed to spill it on the great hulk of a man sitting in the far corner. In the ensuing shouting, Harry spied a brief glow from Malfoy’s table and knew the orb was in use.

*

When they returned to the curtain-twitcher’s house, there was not even a flicker of movement to be seen at the windows.

“She knows,” Harry said. He put his hand on his wand, his senses all on high alert. In the years he’d been an Auror, the rush of adrenalin had become familiar, but although his instincts had developed – much like Malfoy’s with magic – he had also learned that he should always be on guard. A complacent Auror was often a dead Auror, as they liked to say in the department.

He glanced over, and was relieved to see that Malfoy also had his wand ready.

“On the count of three,” said Harry. “One, two, THREE!”

He banged on the door, and sprang back when a stream of red light came from one of the upper windows. Without thinking, he pulled Malfoy back, pushing him behind some bins. He fired back a Stunner, then crouched near Malfoy, searching the windows for any sign of the witch. One of the windows was slightly ajar. Harry nodded up at the window, hoping that Malfoy would understand.

“Put your fingers in your ears,” he whispered, then let loose a spell the Aurors often used. A ball of yellow light flew in at the open window, and a second later a loud _boom_ rattled the windows.

Malfoy’s fingers were still in his ears when Harry knocked the door down, and Harry was halfway up the stairs before he heard Malfoy climbing over the splintered wood. Harry paused, and Malfoy seemed to understand, because he held stock still, too. Above them, a floorboard creaked and Harry pointed in the direction of the noise.

“Stay here,” Harry whispered, “Hide around the corner, and you can catch her if she tries to escape this way.”

“What about yo—”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry said. He didn’t look back as he made his way to the top of the stairs; he needed all his attention focused on the situation ahead.

There were four doors, three open and one locked. As quickly as he could, Harry cast a scanning spell. The open rooms were empty.

“I’m an Auror,” he said, loud enough to take into account the sonic boom he’d sent through the house. “If you come out now we can do this without any further fuss.”

“Never!” came a shout from the other side of the door.

“Fine, then,” Harry muttered under his breath. He changed his stance, making it more stable, then pointed his wand at the door. _“Expulso!”_

The door blew apart, and Harry rocked on his feet but held steady. A witch staggered out, a thin trickle of blood coming from one ear and her hair standing on end. As he’d been trained to do, Harry looked for her wand; it wasn’t in her hand, but lying on the floor beside the bath. It had snapped in two, probably from the blast to the door.

“You bastard,” she snarled, and lunged forward. Harry had been expecting something like this: desperation and anger were fairly common responses at this point. He stepped sideways, but not before she’d managed to fix her mouth on his arm and bite down, hard.

“Ow!”

She pushed him aside and ran down the stairs. Harry sat back and looked at his arm: she hadn’t broken the skin but had left an ugly purple mark. When he heard Malfoy coolly announce, “No you don’t,” and heard the thud of her presumably-Stunned body fall to the floor, Harry heaved himself to his feet. He found Malfoy at the foot of the stairs, a pleased expression on his face and the witch unconscious at his feet.

They looked at each other and grinned. Suddenly, working together didn’t seem that impossible.

*

Their return to the Ministry felt oddly triumphant. After the witch had revived, she’d confessed everything pretty quickly. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d solved a case so quickly, although he wasn’t quite so sure what to think once Kingsley had taken him aside and announced that he had decided that Harry should be assigned to Malfoy’s department ‘in what might be a semi-permanent role’. It was one thing feeling good about catching the bad guy, another to know he was stuck with Malfoy as his boss (kind of) for the foreseeable future.

“Hello, Harry,” Hermione said as she popped her head around the door. Harry smiled and pushed the form he was attempting to decipher aside with some relief. Although his part in this case was over (or would be once he’d finished the bloody from), he’d been expecting an Unspeakable to turn up, and it always cheered him up when it was Hermione who got sent. “How are you settling in? I hear it might be permanent now.”

“Yeah. Fine. Are you here about the Squib-turned-witch?”

Hermione nodded. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Harry rubbed his arm where the curtain-twitching witch had bitten him. “That wasn’t quite the word I would have used.”

“And how are you finding working with Draco?”

“Draco?”

“Oh, don’t you start, too. It’s bad enough with Ron huffing and puffing every time I mention Draco.”

“You’ve already worked with him?”

Hermione nodded. “I ran him through some of the Ministry protocols, worked out how his team could work with mine.”

Following the night Sirius had died at the Department of Mysteries, slow changes had been made to how it was run. The extreme secrecy had lessened, somewhat, as the Unspeakables extended their magical knowledge to supporting the Aurors. These changes had accelerated once Hermione had gone to work within the department, and so it was no surprise that she had been the one who had first talked to Malfoy. In fact, Harry rather suspected that Malfoy’s new department was at least partly Hermione’s idea.

“He’s… he’s not that bad,” Harry said. “Or at least, not quite as… horrible as I remember from school.”

“Yes, he apologised for the all the times he called me a Mudblood,” Hermione said. For some reason, she was staring at Harry intently.

“Have I got some egg on my robes or something?” Harry said, looking down.

“What? No, Harry. It’s just… I thought…” She broke off, looking a mixture of puzzled and frustrated. “As long as you can work together, I suppose that’s a start.”

“I will admit that he’s good at all the charm work,” Harry said. “And he’s, well not exactly _civil_ , but I think I can work with him. I’m not calling him Draco though. That would be weird.”

Hermione fixed Harry with a look more exasperated than frustrated. “You and Ron are going to be such little boys about this, aren’t you?”

Was Harry being childish about Malfoy? When he came striding into the room, robes swooshing with each step, and greeted Hermione with a smile and kiss on the cheek – a _kiss on the cheek!_ – Harry felt a flare of… something leap up. Annoyance? Frustration? Whatever it was, it licked at his insides while Hermione and Malfoy chatted animatedly about the case.

*

“Arsehole,” Harry muttered under his breath as he tried to work out the difference between ‘suspicious activity’ and ‘observations’. If Harry had thought the paperwork tedious in the Auror department, it was nothing on the kind of notes Malfoy expected him to keep. He couldn’t quite see why he needed to write the same information in two separate boxes. This was his fourth attempt at the same sodding form.

“I heard that,” Malfoy said, looking up from the desk opposite. “I am sitting right here, you know.”

Harry’s cheeks heated, even though he stared defiantly back at Malfoy. “It’s your stupid forms!”

“Before you go any further, may I remind you that as department head I have seniority over you, and that insults are not appropriate? Also they're a waste of both our time. We’re here to work, not fight like schoolboys.”

Glowering would probably describe Harry’s next look at Malfoy, but he took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could, “Sorry.”

Malfoy nodded, his thin face remaining impassive.

Harry’s annoyance crumpled a little, and he sighed. “Look, it’s this form.” Harry moved around to Malfoy’s side of the desk, and pushed the form between them. “What's the difference between these two boxes?”

“Suspicious activities aren’t necessarily the entirety of our observations,” Malfoy said. “I like to keep a track of all the details of a case—”

“Even a closed one?”

“The Unspeakables are still investigating what happened to bring out the Squib’s magic,” Malfoy said. “And maybe there was something we noticed that seems insignificant now, but that will become useful to this or even another case in the future.”

“For the Unspeakables?”

“Or for us. I’ve found that there are often connections that lie invisible to everyone, even the people whose actions we investigate.”

“I–” Harry stopped, remembering all the times one detail of an old case had lingered, half-forgotten, in the back of his mind, tantalisingly out of reach but somehow still significant. Sometimes it wasn’t until after a case had been solved that he’d remembered the connection. “Fine, I get it.”

Malfoy nodded, still looking calm, as though he was used to explaining things to hot-headed Aurors who were predisposed to doubt him. “I’m glad it was so easy to clarify.” He pulled back in his chair subtly, but the message was clear: _go away now, get on with your work_.

As Harry scooted back to his own desk, he muttered a thank you but didn’t look up again, because he didn’t want to see that smug face looking back at him. It was almost as though Malfoy was being professional only to make Harry look bad. Or maybe, Harry had to admit to himself, Malfoy simply was a very professional, competent man. Damn him.

*

“Hello?” Harry called over the gate at the side of the house. He’d already tried knocking on the front door, but no one had come. He could hear the sound of a child laughing and suspected that Teddy and Andromeda were in the garden. Judging by the laughter and the high-pitched squealing, Teddy was enjoying his summer and Harry wasn’t really surprised that they weren’t inside: as far as he could work out, Teddy was spending most of August outdoors.

Within a minute or so, Andromeda was at the gate, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, Harry, we were having so much fun I forgot we wouldn’t be able to hear the door from out back. Come on in.”

Andromeda’s garden ran down to a small group of trees, beyond which Harry could just see the lines of Muggle train tracks. Every now and then, a train would whir past, the passengers unaware that the suburban semi half hidden by the trees contained a witch and her wizard grandson.

Teddy was still laughing. In fact, he was squealing with laughter, as someone tickled him. Harry was shocked to see that the tickler wore jeans on his skinny frame, along with a pale grey shirt. Even out of robes, there was no mistaking the bright shine of white-blond hair.

“You… Draco Malfoy is here, too,” Harry said, half to himself.

Andromeda touched his arm. “Yes,” she said softly. “I haven’t spoken to my sister in years, not since I married Ted, and I’d never met my nephew before this year. But when he came back from Switzerland, he contacted me. Wanted to make amends for his family.” She smiled. “Teddy loves having a cousin.”

A tightness seemed to be constricting Harry’s chest. Wasn’t he family enough for Teddy? It was usually Harry who tickled Teddy like this. Malfoy seemed to be enjoying it as much as Teddy, though; Teddy shifted slightly and Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s smile, which completely transformed his face. His eyes were bright and he looked happy. Despite himself, Harry felt his mouth pulling into a matching smile. Another loud squeal of laughter filled the garden, and the tightness loosened slightly, into something else. A wistfulness, for not having his own memories of being tickled like this as a child? Harry certainly felt a yearning pull as he watched Malfoy and Teddy giggling together.

Malfoy’s smile changed as he caught sight of Harry. It didn’t fade, but became keener in a way that made Harry uncomfortable, made him aware of the remaining tightness still in his chest.

“Cup of tea, Harry, or something cold?” Andromeda asked. “I’ve got some pumpkin juice.”

“Tea will be fine.”

“Draco, darling, do you want some tea, too?”

Malfoy’s face shifted again as he regarded his aunt. “Tea would be lovely, thank you,” he said.

Teddy finally noticed Harry. He leapt off Malfoy’s lap, and barrelled across the garden. Harry caught him up in a bear hug, swung him around, and put him back on the ground.

“Have you met my cousin Draco?” Teddy said breathlessly. “He’s almost as good at tickling as you are, uncle Harry.”

“We’ve met, yes,” said Harry. Cool eyes met his with an amused twinkle. “In fact, we went to school together. With uncle Ron and aunt Hermione, too.”

“You did?” Teddy’s eyes were wide.

“Oh yes,” said Malfoy, joining them. “And we were horrible to each other.”

“You were?” said Teddy, his eyes getting even wider.

“We called each names, and everything,” said Harry.

“Some of us still do,” Malfoy said. “But now we work together.” Harry resisted the urge to stick out his tongue.

“That’s good,” Teddy said. “You should be friends.”

“We’ll see about that,” Harry said as Teddy leapt away and ran inside, shouting something about ice cream. He nodded over the chairs set up by the trees where Malfoy and Teddy had been playing when he arrived. “Shall we sit down?”

“I don’t know how aunt Andromeda does it,” Malfoy said. “I’ve met Crumple-Horned Snorkacks with less energy than that boy.”

“Snorkacks?” said Harry. “You sound like Luna.”

Malfoy nodded. “She’s still a little bit loony, but being an Unspeakable suits her.”

“You know her, too?”

Malfoy looked uncomfortable. “I’ve worked with her but…” He sighed, and looked up at the house, where Andromeda was just visible through the kitchen window, bending down to talk to, presumably, Teddy. “I’ve had to make my peace with a lot of people. It’s not always as easy as it is with a six-year old.”

Harry wanted to ask whether Malfoy would be making amends with him, too, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words aloud. Was it truly possible to fix what Malfoy had done, who he had been? But then Harry looked over at the way the dappled sunlight caught in Malfoy’s fine eyelashes, and at how much more relaxed he looked sat amongst flower beds than he did in an office or out in the field. Malfoy was staring at his hands, and they sat in silence until Andromeda came back out, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.

Drinking tea under an apple tree with Draco Malfoy was not anything Harry had ever thought he’d do. Rushing around doing Ministry business and catching rogue witches and wizards was one thing, but a quiet family afternoon was another altogether. Here, with his aunt and young cousin, Malfoy seemed softer somehow. His voice was quieter and gentler than it was at work, and he smiled more.

By the time Teddy had scattered his toy car collection around their feet, and Malfoy had picked one up and examined it with that mix of confusion and wonder that so many wizards seemed to reserve for all things Muggle, Harry had relaxed enough to attempt talking to Malfoy again. Up until this point, both of them had mainly been talking to Teddy or Andromeda, not each other.

“So, you lived in Switzerland,” Harry said, feeling like an idiot.

“Yes,” Malfoy replied.

Harry felt that Malfoy probably agreed with the whole ‘idiot’ thing, but ploughed on. “All I know about Switzerland is that they make chocolate and speak three different languages.”

“Both those facts are true,” Malfoy said. “Not everyone knows about the languages, though.”

“Oh, Hermione brought me back some chocolates once. All the labelling was in three languages.” A thought occurred to Harry. “Was she visiting you?”

“About a year back? Yes.”

“Right.” Harry didn’t quite know what to do with this information. Hermione had visited Malfoy abroad, a year ago, and not mentioned it. “To talk about work?”

Malfoy inclined his head; he appeared to be looking at Teddy rather than Harry, but at the same time Harry could feel the tension of Malfoy’s attention, wherever he was looking.

“She came out to persuade me to help set up the Office of Lock and Curse Breaking.” He smiled wryly. “She can be rather persuasive.”

“I’ve been wondering,” Harry said, “which part were you in? I mean, which language did you speak?”

“Geneva,” Malfoy said. “I spoke French. _Je parlais français._ ”

Harry went a bit weak at the knees at Malfoy’s confident French accent and what it did to Malfoy’s voice, both softening it up and making it sharper at the same time. Glancing up, he saw the hint of a smile and almost what looked like a challenge in the glint of Malfoy’s eye.

“I...” Hearing anyone speak French that smoothly would have caused Harry to cross his legs. At least it hadn’t been Italian, that could have been even worse. He cleared his throat. “I hear that part of the world is lovely. Lots of mountains.”

“And hills, and lakes, and clear skies and mists that roll in. It was beautiful.”

“Do you miss it?”

Malfoy’s face went from wistfulness to regret to something harsher and more painful all in the space of a second. Harry waited.

“I moved there with my parents, after the war. It.. it’s very beautiful there, but it’s good to be living on my own, here.”

“Oh.” A rush of old, familiar anger and dislike rose in Harry, as it always did at the thought of Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, with his skinny hips and his French, Harry could just about make sense of - he remembered the look on his face on the Astronomy Tower - but Lucius was associated with nothing but hateful memories.

Harry had spoken for both Malfoy and his mother at the trials after the war, but he’d remained silent on the subject of Lucius. Large amounts of money had been donated to various good causes, the Manor closed up, and the Malfoys had disappeared from Britain, only slightly tainted it seemed by their long association with Voldemort. The fact that Lucius hadn’t ended up in Azkaban with the other Death Eaters had always rankled with Harry.

He looked down again, at Teddy happily _vroom vrooming_ with his cars. Tonks and Remus had given up their lives at the Battle of Hogwarts, and Malfoy’s family had been on the wrong side that day. Harry ignored the little voice that told him that Tonks was part of that family, too.

Harry’s eyes went to Malfoy’s left arm, which was covered by the fine cotton of his shirt. An old suspicion returned: had Malfoy taken the Dark Mark in their sixth year?

Malfoy’s hand rose to cover his sleeve, and for a brief second their eyes met. Malfoy’s face blanched, making it look as pinched and unhealthy as it did at work. Panic gripped Harry, as he realised he’d as good as accused Malfoy of being a Death Eater, and lumped him together with his father.

“I, er…”

Malfoy stood suddenly, and Teddy stopped playing to look up. “I think it’s time I should be getting on,” Malfoy said, his voice clipped and prim. He wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. Harry was dimly aware of Andromeda, watching this all unfold from her deckchair; she’d pulled her sunhat down to shade her eyes, but her attention was on them. It was coming off her in waves. Malfoy leant down towards Teddy, and said softly, “I’ll see you soon, little monkey.” Teddy flung his arms around Malfoy again as he ruffled Teddy’s hair. “And I’ll see you at work on Monday, Potter”. The words came out flat.

“I…” Harry floundered.

Malfoy straightened. “Thank you for the tea, Andromeda. Sorry to rush off. I’ll let myself out.”

He stalked off across the garden before she could respond, disappearing into the darkness of the house. A moment later, Harry heard the distant thud of the front door closing.

Andromeda sighed, her hat pushed back and her eyes sad. “There’s nothing easy about any of this,” she said. A train thundered past at the end of the garden, giving Harry a little time to think what to say in response.

“How did you do it?” he asked when it was quiet again. “How did you forgive him?”

“I… it’s not as simple as forgiveness, Harry.”

Teddy climbed into her lap. “Why did uncle Draco go?”

She rubbed his back. “He had to, sweetie, he had some work to do.”

“OK,” Teddy said, and he jumped off and ran to the swing hanging from the pear tree in the corner. “Watch me!” he called out. “Watch how high I can go!”

“When Draco first approached me, I sent him away,” Andromeda said. “Who was he, compared to the people I’d lost?” She looked up. “I bet you have a picture of your parents, smiling at you from the past.” Harry nodded. “Well, so does Teddy. It’s all he knows of his parents, too.” She took off her hat, lay it in her lap, ran her hand gently over the band. “All I’ve got now is Teddy. And I want life to be different for him. I don’t want him to have to lose a loved one, a child. I don’t want him to have to make choices about fighting or surviving, or even between principles and his family.” She looked up, and there was a stark sadness in her eyes. “It isn’t easy, but the only hope is to move forwards. Draco is not his father, nor his aunt Bellatrix.” Her lips quivered as she said her dead sister’s name.

Harry was quiet. In the trees above, a bird sang. He thought of the years he’d spent glaring at Malfoy, hating him. Did he hate him now? He didn’t know. The old loathing had begun to fade from the moment he’d tried _Sectumsempra_ in a cold bathroom at school. Could he forgive him? He could work with him, he knew that. But forgiveness was something else. For some reason, Harry thought of his statue of the sad angel, with the almost painful ache of recognition he felt every time he saw its face.

“I’m working with him, did you know that?” Harry asked.

Andromeda nodded.

“He’s good at his job – really good – but I don’t know if I can forgive him for everything, the way you have.” Agitation built inside Harry; all the anger and sadness of the past few years, coiling away beneath the surface. Andromeda gave him an understanding smile, tinged with sadness, but said nothing. Instead the two of them sat and watched Teddy swinging higher and higher, as the sound of his excitement and laughter filled the garden.

Perhaps this was how Andromeda had done it: sitting with all the pain and discomfort of the past, but getting on with living anyway.

*

Monday was unbearable, and Tuesday not much better. First of all, Malfoy wouldn’t speak to Harry. Not in a childish way – he still answered questions – but in a series of silences, leaving Harry feel more alone than he had done in a long time. Harry didn’t know if he wanted to apologise, exactly, but although he wouldn’t have thought it a week earlier, he missed the sharpness of Malfoy’s responses, the dry way he kept riling him on a normal day.

Secondly, everyone else seemed angry with Harry. The Curse and Lock Breaking department had curled around Malfoy in a protective embrace, leaving Harry on the outside.

After work on Tuesday, Harry found Pansy Parkinson, waiting for him by the Atrium Floos. She unpeeled herself from the wall she’d leant against, and came up close.

“I need a word with you, Potter,” she said.

“Er…”

“Not here, and not that beer-soaked Leaky Cauldron either. I want to go to your place.”

Harry’s home address was a carefully kept secret. “I, er, don’t normally have—”

“Slytherins back?” She rested her hand on his arm. “I think in this case you can make an exception. I want to talk to you about Draco.”

Harry looked at the Floo, and pictured home. Having Pansy Parkinson in it might be a price he’d be willing to pay if it meant his working life could go back to normal.

As soon as they stepped through to Harry’s living room, Pansy lit a cigarette and started puffing away. Seeing Harry’s look of annoyance, she rolled her eyes and Conjured an ashtray. She gave him a nod as though to say, _See, I can be considerate._

Harry wondered what he’d let himself in for.

“I’ll take some coffee, black,” Pansy said, settling herself on the sofa. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Normally, Harry would make drinks or cook himself for his guests. But Pansy didn’t look as though she’d willingly sit in the kitchen while he fussed around with a kettle, or coffee pot. So, with a sigh, Harry called for Kreacher.

“Master?” Kreacher asked after he’d arrived with a loud _crack._

Harry winced. No matter how hard he tried to persuade Kreacher to take clothes or become engaged in elf rights, Kreacher always remained stubbornly on the side of tradition and servitude. It drove him up the wall - part of the attraction for Kreacher, he suspected - and there was a reason Harry normally did the cooking when his friends came around. There was no way Hermione would ever set foot in his house if he did it any other way.

“One cup of tea and some black coffee, please.”

“And some biscuits?” Kreacher offered, hopefully.

“If you must.”

Kreacher bowed low to Harry, and much lower to Pansy, then disappeared from the room with another _crack._

Pansy’s eyebrows made neat little arches as she raised them in question. “The high and mighty Harry Potter, champion of house-elf freedom, has one himself? Interesting.”

“You didn’t come here to talk to me about house-elves,” Harry said.

“Oh yes,” Pansy said, taking another drag from her cigarette. “Draco.”

Harry said nothing, torn between a desire to scowl and the wish for a return to a peaceful working life.

“He came home in a terrible state on Saturday.” She blew out a plume of smoke. “We’re flatmates, did you know that?”

Harry shook his head. He and Malfoy hadn’t exchanged details of their personal lives.

“He wouldn’t talk to me so I opened a bottle or two of Barolo and weaseled it all out of him. He seems to think that it doesn’t matter what he does, he’ll never be able to escape his past.”

An image of Malfoy, sad, mad, and with skin flushed pink with drink came to Harry’s mind, He banished it immediately, thinking instead again of Malfoy’s sneer on the Hogwarts Express as he’d stamped on Harry’s face, breaking his nose. “Maybe none of us can.”

“Perhaps. I’ve certainly found it hard to move on. Did you know that I work in a Muggle shop, now? No, I suppose you wouldn’t, would you. Why should you know what I’m doing with life? Me, or Greg, or anyone else who wasn’t your friend or on your side.”

She was right; Harry never thought of them. Harry’s discomfort at Pansy’s words was thankfully interrupted as Kreacher appeared at the door, carrying a silver tray with a coffee pot, tea pot, various jugs and bowls, and a plate of biscuits. He managed to bow while keeping the tray upright, then deposited it on the coffee table.

“Thank you, Kreacher.”

Kreacher scowled, then scuttled out of the room. Pansy barely seemed to notice, although she did stub out her cigarette before reaching for her coffee.

The tea was, as expected, terrible - weak and tasteless - and judging by the face Pansy made when she tasted her coffee, it wasn’t much better.

“I wouldn’t try the biscuits,” Harry said. “They look homemade.”

She put down her cup, and pulled out another cigarette instead. She didn’t speak until after she had lit it, and taken her first, lengthy drag.

“He’s not the arrogant little snot he was at school,” she said. “None of us are.”

Harry seemed to remember that Pansy had been all too keen to hand him over to Voldemort when no one else would.

She took another drag. “I’m sorry for all that… business, at school, at the end. So’s he. Neither of us can change the past, all we can do is try to live life differently now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Hufflepuff, but I’ve learned some truths about life.”

“It… It’s not that easy.” Harry twisted his hands in his lap. “We all made our choices.”

“And some of us are still paying for those choices, and we might always be. But we can learn from them, and we can be sorry.” She looked directly at Harry as she said these words, and he had the distinct feeling that this was her apology.

Something about the look of earnestness on her usually sharp face touched Harry in a way that a wordy apology wouldn’t have managed. He sighed; however much he wanted to sit in his corner and sulk, he knew she was right to want to move on. It was good that she knew she’d done wrong, but he still didn’t know that _he_ could move on, too.

“I know,” Harry said. “It’s been OK, working with Malfoy. He’s good at his job. I didn’t mean to upset him, but it’s not going to go away, either. We do still share a painful and difficult past. We always will.”

“I know,” Pansy said, so softly Harry almost didn’t hear. “But you can share the present, too. It can be something… different.”

Harry thought of Andromeda, remembered her stroking the band of her hat as she spoke of all those she’d lost. He could try to do what she did, he could try to sit with all of it: the sadness and the loss, but also the hope for, as Pansy called it, something different in the future. What else had he fought for, after all, but this? A chance to live in peace, however messy that peace might be.

Long after Pansy had left, the smell of smoke lingered in Harry’s living room. The strange unease brought about by her words and presence lasted longer, but with the churning feeling also came a resolve to at least try with Malfoy.

*  
The next day, Harry made an effort. He sat with Malfoy, and asked him so many questions about how he worked that Malfoy was forced to talk to him all morning. By lunch time, Harry decided to go a step further.

“Do you want to go down to the canteen with me, pick up a sandwich for lunch?”

Malfoy curled his lip in distaste. “I’d rather eat my socks than a canteen sandwich.”

“As you wish,” said Harry with a grin. He watched as Malfoy’s face wavered between exasperation and amusement. In the end, a hint of a smile broke out, and Harry knew that he had been forgiven. “I’ll bring my sandwich up and you can eat your socks while you explain more about how that orb of yours works.”

“Don’t be such a troll,” Malfoy said. “I’ll have you know that I brought my own sandwiches today, and they are far superior to anything you’ll find in the canteen.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to insult each other?”

“When we’re working.” Malfoy’s smile twitched, then spread until his eyes twinkled. “It’s our lunch break now.”

Harry left Malfoy with his feet up on his desk, and a rather delicious-looking sandwich in his hands. Harry’s smile lasted the entirety of his lift journey, and all the way through the sandwich queue in the canteen.

*

Harry’s buoyancy at returning to some semblance of normality with Malfoy evaporated as soon as he read the file on their next case. A Dark wizard had kidnapped three children, and had locked them away in the crumbling ruin of an abbey, deep in a forest. As Harry read, he became aware of Malfoy standing close by, remaining silent. A team of Aurors had attempted a rescue already, but had been driven away by the charms protecting the place. Grown wizards and witches, hardened by one or in some cases two wizarding wars, had been reduced to screaming, rocking, weeping wrecks.

Harry looked up from the file to find Malfoy watching him, eyes almost silver.

“It sounds bad,” Harry said.

“And time is against us; those children need saving.”

“Do you want to use the orb again?” asked Harry. He could admit it: he was fascinated by some of the charmwork Malfoy could do.

“Yes, but I’ll need more, too. I’m going to need your help with my magic, as well as your Auroring.”

Malfoy was up the ladder to the lock cabinets before Harry could blink. He extracted a small silver bell from one, and a bunch of herbs from another. Harry recognised dandelion and peppermint, which he vaguely remembered were cleansing herbs, but he couldn’t begin to guess what the bell might be for.

Once everything was stowed in a bag, Malfoy and Harry stood together to Apparate to the forest. “Are you ready?” Malfoy said.

Harry nodded.

“Do you trust me? I can’t do this with you unless you do.”

Trust? He’d only recently decided to try to accept Malfoy, and now they were talking about trust. He wavered, for a moment. One look at Malfoy persuaded him; there was no malice, no hint of superiority or disdain to be seen. Only urgency and purpose.

“I… I do. I trust you,” Harry said.

“Good.” Malfoy grasped Harry’s arm. “Let’s go then.”

The world swirled and went black.

 

*

“It would be raining,” Harry said as they spun into a wet clearing near a densely wooded area. The abbey was nowhere to be seen, but even if he hadn’t been briefed Harry would have known they were heading into the woods, so strong was the feeling of foreboding coming from them.

As they began to walk towards the trees, heavy with leaves only lightly touched by the gold of the coming autumn, Harry couldn’t help but think: _I trust Malfoy, but does he trust me?_

Malfoy trudged on beside him. “It rains a lot here. Britain, I mean.”

“It didn’t rain in Switzerland?” Small talk seemed all they had to keep the darkness of the forest at bay.

“Oh, it rained. It also snowed, and got really hot in the summer. Here it rains or is overcast, and that’s it.” Malfoy’s voice sounded thin as they entered the edge of the forest.

“That’s not fair,” said Harry. Malfoy must trust him, to bring him along. He thought of Malfoy in Switzerland. Had he worked alone? Or was there some French-speaking partner out there, lamenting or celebrating the loss of his blond counterpart?

The thought occurred to Harry – a little out of place considering the gravity of the situation they were about to face – that maybe Malfoy would break out into some more of his delectable French if they kept talking about Switzerland. In French it didn’t matter what Malfoy said, it all sounded wonderful. Harry tried to distance himself from this thought, to keep their talk general. “You know as well as I do that there can be lovely clear days in autumn, or sunny warm days in summer.”

“You really are the eternal optimist, aren’t you?”

“Better than being a stuck-up cynic.”

Malfoy levelled him with a stern look, his face looking sallow in the gloom of the trees. “I thought we’d established that you wouldn’t waste valuable work time insulting me?”

“I—” Harry stopped himself protesting. He couldn’t ignore the way his flesh crept at whatever magic lay ahead of them, and besides, Malfoy was right, they didn’t have time to waste on chatter. It wasn’t distracting him from his unease, either. Harry thought of Teddy climbing onto his knee and babbling away, and how scared Teddy would be if some Dark wizard had locked him away from the people he loved. “What do you need?” he said instead.

“To get closer, first.”

As they walked deeper into the forest, they stopped talking. Harry got out the orb and the bell, ready for use. Malfoy brandished the burning herbs in front of him. The thick smell of sage mingled with the damp smell of earth and rain. The closer they got, the more impossible words seemed, anyway. There was so much magic, the air shimmered and the trees were vibrating. An eerie sound, of thousands of leaves shivering and hundreds of trunks and branches creaking, filled the forest. The trees sounded dead, hollow, and no birds sang; the place seemed devoid of life.

Slowly, a set of old stone walls and a large empty window formed from half-broken arches appeared amongst the trees. Any roof was long gone; fallen stones littered the ground, green with moss and dark with damp. No one was in sight, and the rain continued to fall, running down Harry’s face and soaking his hair.

Once they’d got as close as they could bear, Malfoy showed Harry how to observe the scene through the orb. Harry’s teeth had began to ache and clatter together as he felt his body respond to the magic around him, but he almost forgot about it when he saw the shimmering knots of cobalt, zaffre, and brilliant peacock blue.

 _Blues_. This was magic that affected the body, then. No wonder Harry’s teeth were rattling.

“I’m going to have to break each layer of knots, of locks, open,” Malfoy said. He gave Harry a searching look. “I’m going to need you to hold the orb and check the enchantments for me as I work. I’ll give you specific instructions as we go along. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his own jaw feeling alien to him as he fought to bring it under control.

Malfoy handed him the herbs. “I have to warn you, the more I unlock, the more seeps out.”

Harry nodded, not wanting to waste energy on words. He had no idea how Malfoy was managing to keep talking; perhaps he was used to magic like this.

Looking through the orb as Malfoy set to work, Harry began to notice more detail about the brightly-coloured spells guarding the fallen stones and moss-covered walls of the ruined abbey. They moved in swirling mists, reminding Harry a little of memories in a Pensieve. If he watched carefully enough, Harry could see that they formed shapes.

Malfoy stood without moving amongst the roaring magic, only his lips and his wand arm moving. He traced complex shapes in the air, and chanted softly. Very occasionally, his other hand would ring a small bell, the sound cutting through the air with a golden sweetness. Slowly, the first layer of indigo spellwork began to unravel. An intense cold spread out through the forest, covering the trees and leaves with a fine, sparkling layer of frost. Cold fear grasped Harry’s heart, the fear of being alone and forgotten.

For a second, the forest and Malfoy faded from sight. Instead, Harry was locked in a small dark space. He heard the light _ding_ of the bell and blinked, back in the forest, watching Malfoy grapple with a lilac layer of magic. Purples meant magic that worked directly on the emotions, Harry knew, and he felt it keenly as a rising curl of fear within him. Harry redoubled his grasp on the orb, troubled by his moment’s absence. Something about that dark space had felt familiar, and he was left with a creeping-flesh sensation of unseen horror, like waking from a nightmare.

“What colour is it now?” Malfoy asked. Harry could barely hear him over the sound of the magic.

“Lilac,” Harry answered. The colour wasn’t solid: instead it whirled around the ruins, growing bright where Malfoy’s magic touched it, fading nearly out of sight at its edges.

A thought tugged at Harry’s consciousness. He _knew_ what he was looking at, there was something mesmerising about the way they moved, something that seemed to suggest the outlines of people and places. So suddenly it was as though Harry had known all along, he understood: Dreams! That’s what the wispy colours were. Harry shuddered. The kidnapper had made a web of nightmares to protect himself. No wonder Aurors had broken down.

As the violet layer grew brighter the more Malfoy picked at it, Harry knew what to expect. This time, when the forest faded, he recognised the dark space he found himself in. He saw the faint line of light below, felt rather than saw the stepped ceiling.

_Ding!_

He came back to himself. Desperately, Harry tried to focus on Malfoy’s lean figure to keep himself anchored in reality.

The third time it happened, Harry felt the cold, the dust, and worst of all, the utter aloneness of a small boy, unloved and unwanted, shut in the dark. Unbidden, he began to cry.

He still felt the orb in his hands though, and he held on tight. All he could do was trust Malfoy to do his job.

In the darkness, a golden glow flickered into existence, then began to grow, until it had become a column of golden light. Deep within Harry he felt a corresponding light grow, and it took him a moment to understand what it was: hope. He clung to it as though it was a Patronus-worthy memory. The column took on shape, became a pale face, skinny arms, white-blond hair and a fierce look of determination. Whatever horrors Draco saw, whether Harry’s or his own, he would not stop until he had conquered them. Harry felt fresh tears spring up, but this time from relief, not despair. Draco had come to banish the darkness. With the deep and resonant ringing of a giant bell, the shadows faded, burned away by sound and the blaze of light around Draco.

Draco. Harry couldn’t even think of him as Malfoy now, not after seeing that light, the fire of Draco’s eyes. It was as though Draco had faced something that had huge power over him, and yet none at all.

The dim outlines of three children staggered towards them. Beyond them, Harry could see a wizard, his body a collapsed heap on the ground. Harry didn’t really care if he was alive or dead, he was merely grateful that it was all over.

He and Draco shared a look, and Harry wondered what Draco had seen as he’d broken through the layers of the spell. Had he seen any of Harry’s nightmares, or only his own? An hour before, the thought of Draco Malfoy knowing anything of Harry’s childhood nightmares would have been unthinkable, would have been to be avoided at all costs. Now though, it didn’t seem to matter.

With all the layers of defensive spells broken apart by Draco, the eerie sense of horror in the woods had faded. The twirling trill of a song thrush filled the air, and Harry let himself take a deep breath. He looked over at Draco, noted the tear tracks on his face too, but merely stowed the orb, got out his wand, then nodded in the direction of the children.

Draco’s eyes rested on Harry a fraction longer, then he too raised his wand and turned to face the broken stone walls and the fallen wizard. Together, they crept closer, the sounds of crying and sniffling growing louder as they did so. Draco reached the children first, and Harry understood it was up to him to make sure the wizard was no longer a threat. As soon as he’d cast a quick spell and prodded the prone man with his foot, Harry removed his wand then hurried over to Draco, who was crouched down, talking to the children in a gentle and calm voice.

Harry sent his Patronus to fetch Auror back up. The memory he used was Draco as a column of golden light, coming to save him.

*

It was only once they were both back in the Ministry, the children reunited with their parents amidst many tears from all concerned, that Harry realised how badly he was still shaking. One look at Draco confirmed that he was in as bad, if not worse, a state. His skin looked grey, and his eyes were dark hollows.

“You look terrible,” Harry said.

Draco smiled weakly. “Thanks.” He rubbed a hand across his brow. “Breaking those enchantments was… hard work.”

Wordlessly, Harry slid his desk drawer open, and took out some chocolate. He passed it to Draco. “Remus always said chocolate was the best cure.”

“He was a wise man.”

Harry took back the bar, and broke himself off a piece. “Are you going to be OK?”

“I think I may have to go home. Rest a little.”

“Will Pansy be there?”

Draco fixed Harry with a pale but suspicious look. “How do you know about Pansy?”

Oh. Harry had forgotten that Draco didn’t know they’d met. “I, er, I bumped into her once. She mentioned that you were flatmates.”

“No bloody sense of privacy,” Draco said. “She’s a nightmare to live with.” He sighed. “I suppose she wanted to apologise, or something?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Or something.”

Draco must have been exhausted to let that slip by, but he didn’t seem to even hear Harry say it. Harry gave him some more chocolate, then flagged over one of the other Curse and Lock Breakers to fetch them both some hot sweet tea.

Harry helped Draco down to the Atrium a little while later, aware as he did so of the people who stared to see Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy clutching onto each other in the lifts. _Let them stare_ , he thought, protective of the man who had just saved him.

*

Ron and Hermione’s home was filled with books and broom maintenance kits. Harry moved a Quidditch book out of an armchair and added it to a pile on the coffee table.

“The Curse and Lock Breaking department’s really interesting,” Harry said. “I’m learning loads, especially from Draco. For example, if this armchair was a spell,” Harry prodded the mustard-yellow velvet, “it would be an elemental one.” He frowned. “I’m not sure which element though, not yet. I’ll have to ask Draco.”

“So just like that, everything’s OK?” Ron said. Ron was finding Harry’s transformation from a Malfoy-hater to Draco-tolerator a little too swift for his liking.

“If I can trust him with my life, then yeah.”

“I say he’s still a pillock.”

“Maybe.” Harry sighed. He was unsure how to describe how he felt about Draco. On the one hand, Draco’s magic was pretty cool and already Harry couldn’t imagine going back to investigating cases without it, but on the other hand, Draco was still fairly stand-offish and, well, there was their history. “He can be an arse, but it’s… well, it feels a bit more matey now.”

“Matey?” Ron sounded outraged. “I’m your mate.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Harry said quickly. “We don’t talk about Quidditch or anything. But it’s not… it’s not _mean_ , like it was a school.”

Ron didn’t look happy, and Harry was sure Ron was muttering to himself when he went to help Hermione in with the tea. Harry was left alone in their living room, idly scanning the bookcases for interesting titles, and mentally cataloguing everything by colour.

He distantly heard the rumble of Ron’s complaints continuing in the kitchen: bizarrely, in addition to the words ‘Malfoy’ and ‘git’, Harry was sure he heard the word ‘statue’, too. The soothing up and down of Hermione reasoning with Ron followed, but none of her words were decipherable. When Ron returned, carrying a tray of mugs and a plate of custard creams, he was slightly pinker than normal.

“I was just saying to Ron that I’m enjoying having the chance to work with you a bit more,” Hermione said.

“Well work’s not as much fun without Harry around,” said Ron, obviously still feeling a little aggrieved. “So yeah, I bet it’s great for you.”

Hermione looked as though she wanted to stab Ron with her teaspoon, but she didn’t say anything.

“We weren’t even partners,” Harry said.

“True,” Ron said. “But let me have this. I am allowed to miss working with my best friend, aren’t I?”

“Fine.” Harry knew that Ron wouldn’t stay cross forever. “At least we still have Quidditch, hey? Are you looking forward to the match tomorrow?”

Ron nodded. It still felt uncomfortable, but they’d been friends for long enough for Harry to know this would pass. They talked about the match for a few minutes. The Cannons had a new Seeker, and both Harry and Ron were keen to find out how good she was. At the same time, Harry noticed that Ron hadn’t touched the biscuits yet. Normally by now he would have eaten half a dozen.

Harry stretched out in his armchair, grateful for the crackle and heat of the fire. He knew he’d think of it wistfully when out on the stands with Ron the next day. Even with Ron upset like this, Harry still loved coming to see his friends, and felt far more at home with their books, brooms, and squashy furniture than he did in Grimmauld Place. He sighed, his thoughts returning to his not working with Ron any longer. “It has been great working in the same place as you, but it’s good to move on, too.”

“Yeah.” Ron looked uneasy, and lapsed into a glum silence.

When Ron popped out of the room to go to the loo a few minutes later, Harry leant forward towards Hermione. “Is he all right?” he asked. “He seems unhappy. It’s not just me working with Draco, is it?”

Hermione shook her head. “He does miss working with you, but it’s not only that.” She sighed. “Look, it’s probably best if you ask him directly.”

A prickle of worry ran through Harry. What was wrong? He and Hermione sat together, waiting for Ron to return, while Harry went through all the possibilities in his head. Ron was rather prone to getting down about things, and sometimes didn’t seem that happy with parts of his life. But then again, he was so content with Hermione and in his relationships with his family. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to relax. He could almost hear Draco telling him to stop asking so many questions. For some reason, the thought of Draco’s snarky voice calmed Harry more than anything else.

When Ron came back in he stopped in the doorway, and looked between the silent Harry and Hermione. “Did she tell you, then?”

“No I didn’t,” Hermione said. “You can tell him yourself.”

Ron sat down and sighed. He rubbed his hands on his trousers a few times, as though trying to work out what to say next. “I’m not going to pretend that you moving departments isn’t part of this,” he began slowly, “but I don’t want you to think that it’s the only reason.” He paused. “I’m thinking about leaving the Aurors.”

“What?” Harry was surprised. He had always pictured the two of them, Auroring (as Draco would say) until they were too old or injured to do it any more.

“I’ve been helping George out in his shop, and he’s offered me a job there, if I want it. A permanent one.”

Harry’s mind was struggling to keep up. “You’re leaving the Aurors to work in a _joke shop_?”

Ron groaned. “You sound like mum now.”

“I… I’ll need to get used to this idea,” said Harry. “But if it’s what you want.”

“It is,” Ron said. He looked over at Hermione.

“It’s me as well,” she said. “I worry about Ron, out in the field. I’d rather have a boyfriend with all his limbs attached.” She smiled fondly at Ron, and for a moment Harry felt like an intruder. But then she looked up at him, and the look on her face was so soft and warm that Harry understood that there was more at stake here than jobs or limbs. Something was changing for his friends, as they grew into their lives together. How could he be anything other than happy for them? He smiled back.

“It’ll all work out, I’m sure,” he said.

Ron smiled too, a relieved kind of smile, and took three custard creams. “What?” he said, spraying crumbs as he shoved all three into his mouth. “I’ve got to catch up!”

Seeing Ron stuffing himself with biscuits again, Harry sat back in relief. Everything really would be OK.

*

“If I were to test you on all the colours, how well would you do?”

It was a quiet day at the office, and Draco was obviously bored. The weather was so cold and miserable and well, _November_ , outside they’d stayed in for lunch rather than go for a bit of a walk, which was usually Harry’s suggestion when Draco got like this.

“Go on then,” Harry said, more than ready for the challenge. After Ron had dropped his bombshell about leaving the Aurors, Harry had thrown himself into learning everything he could about Curse and Lock Breaking. Working in the Auror department felt more and more distant as each day passed, and Harry was genuinely excited to have this new world open up to him. He read books on magical theory in bed, articles in journals over his breakfast, and had pinned up Draco’s colour-coded chart in his living room. He suspected that this was one more competition between them, but didn’t care. He always won, and this wasn’t going to be any different.

“Give me ten shades of green.”

“Artichoke, apple, asparagus, olive, lime, chartreuse, malachite, mint, pistachio and viridian.” Harry counted them off on his fingers. “Easy.”

Draco sniffed. “I suppose I can accept them, even though they weren’t in alphabetical order.”

“And I can tell you that green magic tends to be for physical, visible locks with mechanisms, whether magic or otherwise.”

“Yes, yes, very clever. Green’s obviously too simple - all you have to do is name half a dozen plants. How about orange?”

Harry sat back and planted his feet on the desk. “Magic or hues?”

“Both,” said Draco with an evil little smile.

“Magic that appears orange when viewed through the orb,” Harry began, “tends to be linked to the mind, and to patterns. Amber for puzzles; coral for symmetry; apricot for repetition; salmon for illusions; rust for confusion; carrot for—”

“Yes, we all know what carrot’s for,” Draco said dryly. Whoever had designed the way the orb worked had had a sense of humour about carrots. “Love spells give me a headache with all that bright orange.”

“It’s like being at a Cannons game,” Harry said. And then he groaned. “Promise me you’ll never let Ron know that his favourite team reminds me of badly-cast erotic spells.”

Draco winced. “It’s not an association I’d care to make, either.”

“You leave Ron alone,” Harry said. “He’s my friend.”

“Yes, but one wouldn’t want to think of him _in flagrante_ , as it were.”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, “all that red and orange, it would be like looking at a complex number lock, no?” He enjoyed teasing Draco, and this was one of the easiest ways.

“For once I’m not thinking about the magic. Anyway, redheads aren’t my type.”

Draco had a type? Try as hard as Harry could, he couldn’t picture Draco with a woman, no matter what her hair colour.

“I prefer my men much darker than that.”

His—

His men.

Draco was gay. Oh. Suddenly endless images of pale limbs and sharp hips came to Harry’s mind, of rough kisses and urgent movements. Harry shifted, torn between horror at this reaction, and surprise. Draco had turned away, as though hiding his face. Had he meant to reveal that fact about himself?

Harry wanted to castigate himself for not having noticed that Draco was gay, but it hadn’t really come up in conversation, had it? And perhaps it wasn’t a surprise after all: he must have known, deep down. Why else had he been unable to imagine him with a woman? He’d never once though Pansy was anything other than Draco’s flatmate, too.

Harry tried to respond, but his mouth was dry all of a sudden.

“Merlin, I must be bored to be speculating about Weasley’s love life or mentioning my own.” Draco’s voice was sharp as he turned back to Harry, and he grimaced. “And damn you for making me mention both in the same sentence!”

“Tea?” Harry asked. He needed something to distract him.

“Once you tell me what an invisible anger charm would look like.”

“Really?” Harry wanted to leave the room, not stay in it any longer.

“Really.” Draco folded his arms.

Harry was perfectly capable of knowing men without needing to jump on any of them. Just because someone was gay, didn’t mean he needed to start imagining them naked, or what it would be like to kiss them—

“I’m waiting.”

“Oh right, yes. Invisible anger… that would be a vermillion flame with a plum heart.”

Draco rolled his eyes but a smile lit his face. “You do appear to have been studying, I’ll give you that. Now off you go, and I’ll have a cup of tea, too.”

As Harry left the office, he turned back for one more look at Draco. Draco was still at his desk, staring after Harry, a small smile on his face. Harry turned away and hurried to make a proper cup of tea for Draco, who had been known to return it if not adequately prepared.

He did not think at all of how Draco’s lips would look as he blew across the hot tea. Not at all.

*

Cold air whirled through the open door with a whistling sound before it slammed shut.

“You took your time,” Draco said, as Harry sat down. Draco wore a hugely long scarf, wrapped two or three times around his neck. He didn’t, Harry had discovered, take well to cold weather.

“You left me with all the equipment to put away.”

“As your direct superior—”

“You’re going with that, again?”

“It’s still true,” Draco said stiffly. “Coming out for lunch does not preclude the correct chain of command at work.”

“We’re not at work now though, are we?”

Draco scowled as the door opened again, and Pansy swept in.

“Hello, darling,” she said. “And Potter.”

“Why are you here?” Draco asked. “It’s much warmer at home. And Potter-free.”

“How you ever managed in Switzerland, I’ll never know,” said Pansy. “The coffee’s better here than it is at home. And as I introduced you to this place, I should ask what you’re doing in _my_ café. Also, it’s not my problem that you bring Potter everywhere with you now, like a little puppy dog.”

“I do not!”

“He is here, is he not?”

Harry watched on, amused. He’d only seen Draco and Pansy together a few times, but they always bickered like an old married couple. He couldn’t imagine what it was like, only the two of them in their flat. They were both immensely prickly people. He ordered a sandwich, while Pansy, of course, only asked for a black coffee.

“If I don’t get Draco to leave the office he starts to organise the paperwork on my desk in alphabetical order,” Harry said. “It seemed wisest to get out.”

“You do struggle with the alphabet, Potter,” Draco said. “It’s fairly simple. You start at A, and work all the way to Z.”

Another blast of air signalled that more people had arrived. Draco pulled his scarf tighter. He was the fussiest person Harry had ever worked with, and yet… and yet Harry was finding himself thinking about Draco all the time. He didn’t know what it meant. Perhaps it was merely the inevitable dregs of their years of rivalry and animosity; Draco had always been able to get to him, like no one else. He suspected that if he talked to Hermione about it, she’d mention the word ‘obsessed’.

It did occur to Harry that Pansy might be right, that he was following Draco around like a puppy dog. Harry wasn’t sure how he’d got to this point. He felt unsettled by Draco, like an itch that wouldn’t go away, and the thought terrified him. He was also, he realised, _noticing_ Draco more now.

Harry had spent so long staring at Draco over the years he didn’t know whether he’d noticed how light his eyelashes were while still at school or over the past few months. He didn’t know whether he knew that Draco’s fingers could rest so delicately on a coffee cup from work or from years of memories. All he knew was that looking wasn’t enough, not any more; something else twisted inside of him, and it grew stronger every day.

When Draco went to order a drink to take away, Pansy leant forward and touched Harry’s knee. He started back. The look on her face was uncharacteristically gentle.

“Poor you,” she said. “I recognise how you’re looking at him, it’s how I looked at him for years at school. Of course, I was barking up the wrong tree, he was never going to notice me.” She gestured at her lap. “No penis.” Harry nearly spat out his mouthful of tea. “You, however,” she said, “he noticed.”

Harry’s heart started beating faster. He didn’t know whether it was at the idea that he might like Draco, or that Draco might have seen him in that kind of light at school. Which was, of course, a ridiculous notion: they had hated each other at school. “I’m not—”

“Spare me,” she said. “I’m not blind, I can see you like him. And you stand more of a chance than my 15-year old self ever did. As you have a penis,” she added patiently.

“I… a what.. I don’t…”

“You can lie to me if you want, but don’t lie to yourself. He’s infuriating, I know, but there is something about him.” She sipped her coffee. “He says you’re annoying but he spends all his time with you. Stranger things have happened.”

“You two look very cosy.” Draco’s voice interrupted them, and Harry and Pansy moved apart. Draco raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. His coffee was in a takeaway cup, and he looked ready to go. “Sorry to break this up, but it’s time to go back to work.”

Harry looked up at him, wondering if the terror he felt showed on his face. Was Pansy right? Was the constant twisting he felt when he was with Draco a sign that he… _liked_ him?

“No need to look so gormless,” Draco said. “You’ll need to be a bit sharper if you hope to finish your paperwork today.”

Harry blinked. Draco was being an arse and yet… his eyes were intensely beautiful, and even below his long coat Harry could see the shape of his slim outline and he remembered the feel of Draco holding onto him, anchoring him against the dark.

Behind Draco, Pansy mimed patting Harry on the back, and mouthed the words, “You know I’m right.”

Harry staggered out into the blustery day, his head as all over the place as the weather.

*

Snow, a week too late for Christmas, fell outside. Or so Harry assumed, looking out of the Charmed windows. His Christmas had been a miserable time of realisations, compounded by a week’s separation from Draco.

How hadn’t he seen it before?

“—so I think we should get you acquainted with my dragon rule, I think it could come in handy… Harry, are you listening?”

When Draco was irritated, his cheek did this little twitch that Harry found adorable. Merlin, this was bad, wasn’t it, that Harry was noticing such details?

Heat rose to Harry’s face at the thought that he’d been caught staring. “I, er…”

“I’m trying to believe you’re not quite as inattentive as you were in school, but you’re making it hard,” Draco said.

He was infuriating when he was like this. Infuriating and all Harry wanted to do was reach out and kiss that mouth into—

“Er, right. The dragon rule. Is that something to do with your work?”

“No. It’s a way of measuring… look, it’ll be easier if I show you.”

Draco was off up the ladder again, affording Harry a glimpse of his long legs beneath his robes. Harry watched the movement of muscle under fabric, wondering at how such a bony arse could look so good all of a sudden.

“Potter! Do pay attention.” Draco sighed. “For some reason I thought you might be a bit brighter than this.”

Harry nodded, miserably. The more he mooned, the slower he seemed with his work. With some effort he put all thoughts of arses or fluent French out of his head and focused on the task at hand.

*

“Harry, you’ve not been listening to word I’ve said.” Hermione waved her Firewhisky in his direction. A faint wisp of steam rose from her glass, leaving a fast-fading trail in the air. The Leaky Cauldron was fairly quiet, but then it was a Thursday night. A group of tourists had wandered in from Diagon Alley, laden with parcels and bags. They kept glancing over at Harry and his friends and whispering, but as long as they didn’t try to talk to him Harry could easily ignore them.

“Hmm?” While Harry had been deliberately avoiding staring at the shoppers, who were now at the bar. Instead he’d been staring at the Valentines decorations Tom had put up, Harry suspected, to impress his new girlfriend as if in anticipation of the day itself. Pink hearts had naturally led to thoughts of Draco, and he’d been thinking again about the delicious torture of Draco telling him off for being clumsy, or stupid, or whatever it had been earlier that day, and of how the words how sounded like silken, spiky, pleasure. Even now he shivered at the thought of it.

“He’s thinking about someone,” Luna said. “He has the distinct air of a Nargle infestation about him.”

Curiosity, mingled with exasperation, crossed Hermione’s face. It didn’t matter how long she worked with Luna in the Department of Mysteries, their old arguments about Nargles (and everything else Luna believed) had never really ended. Finally though, Hermione’s curiosity won through.

“You do have a certain… wistful air,” Hermione said carefully. “Is he anyone we know?”

Harry choked on his drink, and spluttered before wiping his face dry with the back of his sleeve. “Er—”

Hermione and Luna exchanged looks. They sometimes did this about Harry’s so-far non-existent love life. He’d never quite worked out how they’d all known he was gay before he did. And it had taken quite a surprising reaction to bursting in on a couple of wizards who were… rather _occupied_ with each other on a raid to make Harry really own up to his attraction to men.

Even if they already knew – although he didn’t know how they could – he couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. Instead, Harry put his head in his hands. He could make out all the dents and scratches on the table. His elbow was in a patch of beer, and becoming more wet and uncomfortable by the second, but Harry really didn’t want to have to face his friends.

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice was gentle. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine,” Harry said, half grunting.

“You’ve been moping all evening, and now you’re face down in a pool of sticky beer.”

Beer. They’d drunk a fair bit before moving onto the Firewhisky. Maybe that had been a bad idea. “S’not that bad.”

“Is it…” Hermione hesitated, and finally Harry lifted his head to look at her. She was looking at him with an expression as gentle as her voice, and he couldn’t see disgust or pity anywhere on her face. “Is it Draco?”

Harry groaned and nodded, grabbing his glass and downing his Firewhisky in one. Smoke escaped from his mouth as his throat and chest burned, but it was nothing compared to admitting who he was pining after to Hermione.

“You fancy Draco?” Luna asked in her clear, bell-like voice.

Ron and Neville’s conversation about how the Cannons were doing came to an abrupt halt. Ron went the colour of a beetroot – reminding Harry immediately of one of Draco’s invisibly charmed doors, ruby red for invisible locks or complex magic – while Neville’s face twisted in bewilderment.

“You’ve just worked this out?” Hermione said.

Harry nodded miserably.

“Was it the—”

“I only realised over Christmas,” said Harry. “It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“But you’ve been mooning around for ages,” said Ron.

“Yeah,” said Harry with a sigh.

“Oh, mate,” said Ron.

“What’s going on?” said Neville. He was blinking as though he couldn’t really believe what he’d heard a few seconds earlier. Luna leant over and whispered in his ear. “Oh,” he said. His eyes went wide as the penny finally dropped. “Draco Malfoy? Really? That’s quite a challenge,” Neville added, looking aghast. “Draco is a horrible person.”

“He’s not that bad,” Harry said. “Maybe a little obsessed with colour coding.”

“Perhaps it’s just his shiny hair and pert little bum,” Luna said, peering over her Firewhisky at Harry. “It’s quite possible that Harry is a bit of a floozy and none of us have noticed before.”

Harry slid so far down his seat that he was practically on floor. Getting drunk and confessing to his current obsession with Draco had been a terrible idea. Harry sighed again. _Everything_ about this crush was a terrible idea, and he knew it.

 

*********

A thin ribbon of yellow snaked off towards the sea, the water glinting in the early-morning sun. The sun hovered above the horizon, the day seeming to balance on the moment as though it could disappear back into night. A mild breeze stirred the air, bringing with it the fresh, hopeful scents of spring. There were no signs, yet, of the land-crumbling curse that was spreading up from Cornwall. Harry snuck a look at Draco beside him, his hair aglow with the sunrise but his face as unreadable as ever.

“We don’t have more than an hour,” Draco said, turning back to face Harry. “Elemental magic works best without too much light interference.”

“Why didn’t we do this at night, then?” Harry asked, curious. Since Harry had worked with Draco he had begun to feel that he’d learned nothing at Hogwarts.

Draco knelt to search through the bags they’d brought with them, but cast Harry an impatient glance. “We need to be able to see what we’re doing,” he said. “And elemental magic requires some light, as it is one of the elements.”

“Is it?” Harry had thought that there were only four: fire, water, air, and earth.

“I don’t have time for endless questions,” Draco snapped. “Remember?”

Harry gritted his teeth. Yes, he remembered. They had this exchange so often that Harry should really have learned to stop asking. But how else was he supposed to learn what Draco was doing?

“While you’re daydreaming, Potter, tiny cracks are developing in those rocks below, and before long any chance we have at breaking into the Cave of Dreams will pour down the side of this hill in a spectacular landslide.”

With a sigh, Harry reached into the nearest bag and pulled out a small folding stick – the dragon rule – and a glass orb.

“You should bend your knees; you’ll get a bad back.”

“I didn’t know you cared.” Harry flipped the first section of the stick open, and examined the engravings that ran down one side of the wood. He also sneaked a glance at Draco, hoping against impossible hope that the opposite was true, that somehow Draco did care after all. It didn’t matter how much Harry pined, blushed or stammered, Draco always seemed to treat him with the same slightly aloof forbearance. They bickered, and that felt almost like being close, but then Draco went home to Pansy. Against his better judgement, Harry had befriended Pansy in the hope of learning more about Draco. All he’d learned so far was that Draco never mentioned him at home.

“I’d rather not have to work with one of your flat-footed colleagues,” Draco said. Just as Harry’s heart began to flutter at the almost-compliment, Draco added, “I don’t think I could bear to train up another Auror. I have no idea what your training entails, but it’s a total waste of time, in my opinion.”

Harry’s heart came tumbling back down with a familiar thump. He hated himself a little, for having such a ridiculous crush on Draco Malfoy, of all the people on the planet. For years, he’d thought of Draco as an annoying, self-important git, but there was no denying the way his breath became all caught in his chest every time they accidentally brushed against each other as they trotted down the hillside, Draco meticulously avoiding the scattered sheep droppings while Harry stumbled on rabbit holes.

“Don’t you do a course on stealth and cunning?” Draco said. “No wonder there are still Dark wizards everywhere, if you can’t even make an approach without falling over.”

“Stealth and Tracking, actually, but I didn’t do the training,” Harry said, keeping a careful grip on the glass orb. He’d broken one once, and Draco had complained about it for weeks afterwards. “Learned on the job.”

“Of course you did,” Draco said. “I bet Shacklebolt arranged it personally.”

Harry went red, because that was exactly what had happened. They walked on in silence while Harry mulled over the mix of annoyance and longing that always accompanied any outing with Draco. He’d got to the point where he wasn’t sure whether the sting Draco could so effectively elicit was part of the attraction or not.

Two huge boulders marked the entrance to the cave. They were squared-off enough for the cave to qualify as a magical building. Harry measured the distance between them with his stick. “Five dragon-claws, and three-fifths of an eagle’s eye,” he said.

Draco nodded, and then he did the thing Harry had been looking forward to the most: he pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and put them on. From another pocket, he took a loosely-rolled parchment. “Good. According to this the magical field should be somewhere in the region of gold to green. If the rock-crumbling curse hadn’t been activated, it would have been gold.”

Harry looked through the orb. The cave entrance winked into view, or rather its magical field did. “I’d say… an olive green. Slight sparkle at the edges.” He passed the orb to Draco, who peered through before passing it back.

“Midnight blue should do it. We want to stabilise the rocks, but weaken the protective spells enough to get into the cave.” Draco crouched down to remove his boots and socks. His toes were white against the damp grass, and Harry shivered at the thought of how cold that must feel.

“Let’s be quick, it’s too cold for you not to be wearing socks,” he said.

Draco gave him his don’t-be-such-a-mother-duck look, and took out his wand. “Stand back,” Draco said. “And tell me when it changes.”

The ends of Harry’s fingers tingled as he lifted the orb to his eyes again. It didn’t matter how many times they worked together, there was never anything routine about it. The edges of the magical field began to brighten, the dancing lights intensifying as Draco began to chant the spell to unlock the cave.

Harry knew, without looking, that Draco had closed his eyes, and was standing with both feet planted firmly on the ground. _Earth_. A hint of breeze brushed across Harry’s skin, like a caress. _Air_. A glow, the same golden hue as the low light from the winter sun, lit the side of the orb, and Harry knew that Draco’s wand must be burning bright with it. _Fire_. Usually they worked indoors, but now Harry saw how Draco was using the elements to fuel his spell. He waited for a drop of rain, or the sound of water pouring, but there was no sign of water around.

The magical field was darkening at its centre, though, passing through from olive to a deep forest green, before shifting into a pure, midnight blue. Harry stopped worrying about how Draco’s magic was making this happen and shouted, “Now!” instead.

Magic crackled around him, the breeze picking up until both their robes were flapping in the wind.

“ _Alohomora!_ ” Draco’s voice rang out across the hills, and the magical field began to crack, a blackness seeping through where before there had been colour.

Harry lowered the orb. The grassy bank between the boulders had disappeared, and instead a dark hole led into the hillside.

Draco bowed, a smile hanging about his mouth. He was always so pleased with himself after he’d cracked a lock. Which was, after all, his job. “And now it’s up to you,” he said.

“I might still need you,” Harry replied. “For all I know there’s another locked door at the end of that tunnel.”

“Of course, your Aurorness,” Draco said. “But if you don’t mind I’ll put my socks and boots back on first.”

Harry cast a light and stepped forward to peer into the darkness. By the time he’d double-checked for curses with the orb, Draco was standing beside him, his own wand out and ready to go.

The light from their wands barely reached a foot ahead, so they stayed close to one another. After the openness of the morning sky and the constant stirring of the wind, the tunnel seemed a lifeless space. Harry took a couple of deep breaths, and pushed thoughts of spiders and cupboards from his mind.

“What did you use for water?” Harry asked.

Draco walked on without answering, and Harry was about to ask again when the tunnel broadened out.

“Here?” Draco asked, pointing to a narrow ledge of rock jutting out to one side. Harry nodded, and with practised timing Draco cast a localised Shield Charm while Harry conjured some Bluebell flames, thereby creating a magical lantern.

In the soft blue glow of the lantern, their surroundings became clearer. A wide cavern opened before them, and Harry and Draco set about creating more magical lights.

Coloured wisps, like smoke from an enchanted fire, curled around the roof of the cave.

“Dreams,” Harry whispered.

He thought back to the day he’d first realised he could trust Draco, to how Draco had appeared like a beam of golden light to save him from his nightmares.

“Dreams,” Draco echoed, turning to Harry. “I can’t tell what kind they are from here.”

“I need to get closer,” Harry said. “One of them holds the key to what’s happening in Cornwall.” Magical houses, homes and places of work were crumbling. Stone and bricks, timbers and plaster all became riddled with small cracks, until they fell into dust. Within a week, a village could disappear. At the rate the crumbling magic was currently spreading, Devon would fall within a week, and after that, the rest of the country would follow.

“What kind of idiot locks a counter-curse away in a dream?” Draco asked, craning his head up and squinting at the moving wisps.

“The same kind who doesn’t understand that some magic needs to be contained.” Far from being a Dark wizard, Harry would bet that the original caster had been more of an… over-ambitious wizard. “Some stupid feud between neighbours shouldn’t have to turn into a Ministry matter like this.” Apparently, the wizard had only meant to knock down a wall, but he also had some strange ideas about keeping his mind secure. As soon as the Aurors had tracked him down, he’d put himself into a trance and once woken, no amount of Legillimency or Veritaserum could reveal the counter-curse, as it was no longer in his head.

Draco harrumphed. “Pansy’s cousin lost his house last wee—” He broke off, and shone his light upwards. “Notice anything strange?”

Harry peered up. “They’re all moving in the same direction,” he said after watching them for a moment. “As though circling something.” He touched Draco on the arm, and Draco looked down at his arm, and then up at Harry’s face. “Can you get me up there?”

“I could Levitate you,” Draco said. “Would that work?”

Harry nodded. “Should do the trick.” He stood with his feet firmly on the ground, his wand ready in his hand.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Draco incanted, and with a flick of his wand Harry rose into the air. The spell wrapped around Harry as softly as the breeze had outside, and Harry sensed Draco’s unique magical signature in the touch.

Harry cast some light onto the dreams as he floated up towards them. The closer he got, the clearer their colours became. Some shimmered as they moved, while others seemed to draw in the light around them. Like slippery fish, they slid over and between one another, but Harry could see that there appeared to be a void at the centre of the writhing mass. He put out his hand and his ascent stopped as Draco held him in place.

In middle of the whirl of dreams, one spun gently in place. Unlike the others, it was so faint it seemed almost not there at all. “I think this is it.” Harry let the light from his wand fade, and all of a sudden the dreams above his head became more of a whispering suggestion of movement than clearly defined shapes or colours.

He took a deep breath, then he reached his hand up until it sank into the centre of the dream. Dimly, Harry heard Draco swear beneath him, but the soft magic holding him aloft never wavered. The cave began to fade from sight, and Harry opened his eyes to a long room with many windows down one side. A fire burned in a large stone fireplace, and outside the gentle sound of rain ran in counterpoint to the crackle of the flames.

“Hello?” he called. No one answered. Paintings lined the wall facing the windows, and Harry began to walk down the room to better examine them. He might not be able to work out the significance of each and every one, but he’d happily put his memories of this dream into a Pensieve for the rest of the team to sort through.

The first painting showed a grand old house, scores of red-brick chimneys rising from its roof and a long row of windows running along each floor. The second showed a far humbler farmhouse, with chickens clucking around in the yard. After that, the paintings were of a moonlit forest that reminded Harry a little of his Forbidden Forest detention with Draco all those years ago, several of plants that looked vaguely familiar, and a single feather lying on a table. The last painting was of what appeared to be a flagon of wine.

Harry returned to the fire, and looked out of the window for any landmarks before sitting on the floor and staring into the flames. The secret, he now knew, to exiting someone else’s dream was to achieve a dream-like state yourself.

Slowly, the fire and the room faded from sight. Harry became aware of the cool ground beneath him, and a warm hand resting on his chest. He opened his eyes to see Draco sitting above him, his eyes lit with concern. And something a little more… fierce.

“How long have I been out?” Harry asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Draco said. His lips formed a thin line. “You are a fucking idiot, Harry Potter. What were you thinking, reaching into the dream like that? With your _hand?_ ”

Harry attempted to shrug, which was tricky when lying down. “It seemed the right thing to do at the time.”

“You were floating in the air!”

Rage, that’s what Harry could see in Draco’s eyes. Merlin, it looked a fire was burning in them.

“We really should get back,” Harry said. He pulled himself up to sitting, and ignored the slight squeak in his voice. “And I’m fine,” he added as Draco drew another breath. “I knew you wouldn’t let me fall.”

Draco muttered something that sounded like ‘far beyond my job description.’

Something curled up inside Harry: not in a comforting and cosy way, but in miserable and familiar dejection. Although he enjoyed his time with Draco, every roll of the eyes and huff of the breath hammered home precisely how little Draco thought of him.

“What did you see, then?”

Harry swallowed down his feelings, and focused on the job instead. “A long room, lots of portraits. Rain outside, a roaring fire in a stone fireplace inside.”

“Could you make any sense of it?”

Harry shook his head. “No. And that’s why I want to get back: the more people who can examine the dream, the better.”

They walked back through to the cave entrance. Harry blinked into the light. The sun had risen higher and the sky was a cool, clear blue.

“You never did say what you used for water,” Harry said.

Draco stopped beside him, and shielded his eyes from the sun. “It’s too bright,” he said. “We better collect our bags before we Apparate back.”

Whatever Draco had used, he didn’t want to talk about it. Harry nodded and they made their way back up the hill to their bags.

*

Harry sat back and watched his friends dip their heads into his memory of the dreams. Hermione’s hair stuck out in a fuzzy brown halo from her head, while Luna’s glinted softly in the light of the Unspeakables’ Memory Chamber.

Hermione came out of the memory first, followed a beat later by Luna.

“Did you see?” Hermione asked.

Luna nodded. “Sage, mint, dogwood, juniper and fluxweed.”

“Thick glass in the windows. Old glass.”

“At least twenty chimneys. And a forest.”

“A crest with a dove and a stork.”

Harry loved watching them at work. Hermione’s Unspeakable robes fell in neat lines from her shoulders. Luna, by contrast, wore no uniform or official robes. Her woolly jumper with a pattern of dirigible plums around the hems, and her burgundy trousers looked ordinary enough. She’d never worn any symbol or special dress to show who she was or where she worked, but that didn’t make her any less of an Unspeakable.

Draco tapped his foot on the floor in a tattoo of impatience, and Hermione stepped aside without looking up. Draco stuck his head into the Pensieve. The sound of a quill scratching filled the room as Hermione made notes on a parchment, while Luna balanced on one foot.

Draco turned to Hermione and Luna. “A tail feather from an eagle owl, and a flagon of blood.” Hermione nodded and added to her notes.

“Blood?” Harry remembered the red liquid he’d seen, and his stomach did a little flip. “But what does it all mean?”

“A potion,” Hermione said, looking up.

“And a ritual,” Luna added.

Draco frowned. “I think this was a family spell. The coat of arms… it’s the Treadwell crest. The room in the dream, it’s a long gallery in a Tudor house.”

A wave of tiredness swept through Harry, and he yawned widely.

“We’ll check out the house, see if there’s anyone there or a library we can search,” Hermione said. “Harry, you go home and rest. Entering a dream like that… anything could have happened.”

“I already told him that he was an idiot,” Draco said.

“Good.” Hermione wrote a few more words, then rolled up her parchment and handed it to Luna. “You are actually going to go home, aren’t you, Harry? I don’t want to get back to find you half-asleep at your desk. Delving into dreams unprotected like that will leave you seriously fatigued.”

“I’ll take him home.” Draco reached out for Harry’s sleeve. “Come along, Potter. Your bed awaits.”

Images of Draco and bed swam before Harry’s eyes. Draco in _his_ bed. Draco naked. Long limbs and the hairs on his legs catching the light, like that time Draco had rolled up his trouser legs to wade into a flooded room. Then it had been Harry who’d called Draco an idiot.

The room spun, and Harry lurched to one side.

“I’ve got you,” Draco murmured in his ear, and long thin arms wrapped around him. Harry leaned into Draco’s side.

“You’ve got me,” he said, his words blurring into a string of sound. “Take me. Home.”

Draco kept his arm around Harry, through the rest of Level 9, into the lift, across the Atrium, all the way to the Floo banks. He smelt of woodsmoke and ash. He smelt of dust and earth and the wind and the morning sun, rising slowly above a yellow-ribboned landscape.

Harry buried his nose in Draco’s hair. “Sunshine,” he said. “Cold, clear new-day sun.”

He half-heard Draco’s discreet, “12 Grimmauld Place,” and then the churning sensation of Floo-travel blended into the feeling that his entire body was dragging down, pulling him towards the ground. Draco was hot at Harry’s side, and he smelled so very good. Harry sagged into Draco even more, and Draco huffed for a second then renewed his grip on Harry, and dragged him up the stairs of his house. For some reason, Harry’s legs wouldn’t quite co-operate properly.

“Left. Right,” he said, but then his legs became dead weights. Draco’s hands dug into Harry’s side and pulled him through the front door.

Harry saw the stairs, and he saw again the darkness of the dream-trap – not the dream of the hall and the fire and the portraits, but the dream of the cupboard and the long nights of his childhood, with the cold and the creakings and the certainty that no one wanted him, no one cared.

“Potter— Harry!”

His name sounded from far off. He breathed in light and smoke and an ache of hopeless want in his chest. “Draco,” he whispered.

Cool water dripped onto his face.

“Tears,” Draco said. “I used tears for the water element. Tears of utter fucking frustration, you bloody Gryffindor.”

Everything went dark, and Harry fell into a dreamless sleep.

*

When he woke, the room was lit by the softly-glowing rays of the setting sun. Draco was nowhere to be seen. But Harry was definitely in his own bed: Draco must have put him there. Dimly, he could remember something about tears, and Draco sounding angry… frustrated. The memory slid away as Harry rubbed his eyes. His stomach rumbled, and he realised he hadn’t eaten all day.

He padded downstairs, and found Draco on a sofa in the living room, shoes off and feet tucked under him. He was reading a book, but looked up as soon as Harry walked in.

“How long was I…?”

“Three hours. I called for a Healer and the Ministry sent someone. You were sleeping, nothing more.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Draco didn’t answer. Harry’s stomach rumbled again.

“I bet you didn’t eat breakfast this morning, did you?” Draco said.

“The sun wasn’t up yet when I left home.” Harry yawned. “And besides, I’ve been through an ordeal.”

Draco snorted. “Is that what you call it? From where I was standing it looked rather like an act of idiocy.”

Harry ignored the insult. “Have you heard from Hermione and the others? Have they had any luck with the counter-curse?”

“An owl arrived an hour or so ago. They’ve found the house and the woods, but they’re still working on the potion and any incantations that might go with it.” Draco held out the folded note.

Harry joined him on the sofa, unwilling to admit how weak he still felt. He read through the letter, but there wasn’t anything more than Draco had already told him. He frowned as he remembered Draco’s voice at the Floo banks. “How did you know where I lived?” Despite a few daydreams of Draco in his bed Harry had never invited Draco over. They didn’t normally talk outside of work.

“I read your file.”

“But that’s classified!”

“And I’m a lock-breaker,” Draco answered, as though breaking into confidential Ministry files were the most obvious part of his job. “I can’t be working with any riff raff.”

“I’m not riff raff. I’m—” Harry had to stop himself from saying _Harry Potter_. Draco would never let him forget that he’d fallen back on his fame if he did. “You’ve known me since you were eleven,” he said instead, a little lamely.

“Exactly,” Draco said. He raised his eyebrows and smirked as though he knew perfectly well what Harry had been about to say. “I know that you have no respect for authority, and a willingness to put yourself in the path of danger on a far-too frequent basis. And you could speak with snakes for all of your formative years.”

“And you had Voldemort as a _house guest_ in yours.”

Draco gave an elegant shrug. “None of us are perfect.”

Their eyes met, and Harry smiled. Draco’s eyes were a little like a cloudy sky; ‘grey’ described them adequately enough, but they changed from day to day. Moment to moment, really. At this particular point in time, they seemed more playful and light than normal. Quiet stretched between Harry and Draco, in warm silence, and a shared smile.

Harry’s stomach growled again, accompanied by an empty ache, and the connection was gone. Draco moved back. “You were right,” Harry said with a sigh.

“I’m always right.” Draco examined his fingers, although his nails looked perfectly groomed. As usual.

“Not about me being impossible to work with, or whatever it was you were trying to prove. I didn’t have breakfast this morning.”

“I… I didn’t say that you were impossible to work with.” Draco’s hand ghosted on Harry’s arm, but then it was gone and Draco was standing up. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

“I can get up.” Harry protested.

“A little more rest would do you good,” Draco said. “You still look rather… grey about the edges.” His eyes tightened at the corners, and Harry saw that he’d been worried.

“I—”

“Your house-elf would probably attack me if I attempted to make any food myself, but I’m sure he’ll oblige with a tray of something tasty.”

Draco had obviously never eaten Kreacher’s cooking.

“I wouldn’t advise that. Kreacher refuses to take his freedom, but insists on cooking really badly.”

“Not for me, he doesn’t. He keeps crowing about his Mistress, and about me being a ‘proper’ Black. I’ve already had some rather good coffee and scrambled eggs.”

Harry gaped. “You… you tamed my house-elf?”

“Don’t be so crass about it.”

Harry watched, dumbfounded, as Draco called for Kreacher and ordered a light meal of asparagus, salmon and new potatoes.

“What did you do while I was out for the count?”

“Read. Spoke to the Ministry. Met your elf. I have to say, I never imagined you living in a house like this. Mother rarely talks about her family, but this was her cousin’s house, wasn’t it?”

“You’ve read my file.”

Draco looked at him with an oddly blank expression. “It was strange, finding my name on the family tapestry.”

Harry thought of the blasted-off names, the generations of nastiness. And then he remembered his shock on first seeing Draco’s name alongside the others. It had felt like an intrusion then, but now he found it oddly comforting. “I used to find it strange, too.”

“Used to?”

Harry shrugged. “Before I got to know you. When I still hated you.”

The air seemed to leave the room at once when Harry said this.

“You used to hate me?” Draco’s voice was small, and the sound of it made Harry’s heart clench.

Harry looked at Draco as directly as he could, trying to let him know that hate was the furthest thing from his mind. “Come off it, Draco. You were there. You know how it was.”

“But you don’t any more?”

“No. Not for a while. Quite the opposite, in fac—”

“Masters, dinner is served!”

Harry glared at Kreacher, with his terrible timing. For once he had almost got the nerve up to tell Draco how he felt. Almost.

Draco helped him up, and Harry closed his eyes at the sensation of strong fingers grasping his arm, pulling him up. And then Draco had to support Harry all the way to the dining room, and all Harry could feel was Draco’s arm around him, and the heat of their bodies together. It was unbearable, and his unsteadiness on his feet was as much due to Draco’s proximity as any residual tiredness.

The meal proved a surreal experience. Elaborately folded napkins adorned the table, and Kreacher had even lit some candles. The general impression was of an intimate, romantic meal.

It was almost a relief when Hermione’s otter Patronus interrupted them near the end.

“We need your help, Draco. And if Harry has rested enough, his too.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Harry put down his knife and fork. “We’d better go.”

Draco seemed about to protest, but then appeared to change his mind.

*

“How are you, Harry? Well enough to be here?” Hermione asked, as soon as they got near. She and Luna were standing in the gravel driveway in front of the Tudor house Harry recognised from his dream-vision. The Treadwell house, if he remembered correctly. They’d set up a table and a cauldron. Three Aurors were prowling around, keeping an eye on the perimeter.

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “I need to sit down, but I’ll help any way I can.” Before Harry had finished the sentence, Draco had Conjured an elegant but sturdy chair. Harry sat down with a smile of gratitude.

“Are you sure?” Hermione still seemed concerned.

“Draco looked after me,” Harry said. “I’ll be OK.”

Hermione flashed a quick look at Draco, bit her lip, then returned to the cauldron in front of her. “As far as we can work out, the potion is spot on, but we’re having a bit of trouble with the spellwork to go with it. We were wondering if you could have a look?”

Draco nodded, and fetched his orb out of his bag. For once, he’d carried the bag himself. He looked at the potion through the orb, then cast an eye over the potions ingredients spread out on the table. “Mint, sage, juniper, fluxweed and…”

“Dogwood,” supplied Luna. “Along with some blood – best not to ask – and the tail feather of an eagle owl. We found this book in the library,” she held up a cracked, hand-bound volume, “and it gives us some of the details of the magic used to destroy the original property.”

“From that we’ve been able to work out an approximation of the ritual needed to reverse it all,” said Hermione. “But it specifies a Kaleidoscope Charm, and that sounds more like your line of work.”

“Kaleidoscope?” Draco asked. He frowned. “Constantly changing shapes and colours… or a complex pattern of colour…”

“Or somehow... multifaceted?” Harry said. “A mix of different elements.” He pulled out the colour wheel parchment, and laid it across the table. Although he and Draco were familiar with this type of magic, he couldn’t assume that anyone else was. “If it’s anything to do with colours, this might be of help.”

They all leant over the parchment. Hermione traced the different sections with her hand. “You’ve learned all this, Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Buildings have been crumbling away to nothing, after first forming hundreds of cracks,” Draco said in the clipped voice he used when trying to be as logical as possible. “Kaleidoscopic, in this context, suggestions a mix, as Harry said, of different elements. And constant flux.”

“So a counter charm would work by slowing change, and acting as a stabilising force?” Harry asked.

“A stasis Charm?” offered Luna.

“That would be a start,” Draco said. “But I think we’re going to need something else, with oranges, greens and blues.”

“Coral,” Harry said slowly, “and saffron, all shot through with aquamarine?”

Draco nodded. “Cerulean blue, not aquamarine.”

“For added stability?”

“Precisely.”

In the end, Draco cast the spell over the cauldron, while Harry used the orb to give him exact directions for the timings. The potion glowed and changed colour, becoming a hypnotic, almost geometric pattern of shifting colour. After one check with the orb, Draco smiled in satisfaction.

“This should work, but this potion is incredibly unstable. Harry and I will need to supervise how it’s used.”

The first attempt at the ritual - a dance that Luna performed with gusto - along with the careful application of the potion on the ground, in a pattern determined by Draco, resulted in a large crater in the driveway.

The second attempt, held in the long gallery Harry had seen in the dream, was more successful.

“It needs to be sprinkled on a sample of a Cursed brick or stone,” said Draco. “One that hasn’t reached the crumbling stage yet.” Harry might have known all the colours, but the pattern was beyond him. He merely moved to where Draco told him to go, and hoped that this time Draco was right; Harry’s whole side was bruised where he’d been thrown aside by the blast in the driveway.

The pattern was intricate, a woven star of rubble, on the dusty wooden floor. As Harry looked at it, he noticed that one of the bricks wasn’t quite in position. He glanced over: Luna had begun her dance, off to one side. Harry made a split-second decision, and bent to readjust the brick.

The stone and brick began to vibrate. Harry had seen enough curses being broken to recognise the struggle between the Curse and the counter-Curse. So, apparently, did Draco, because he threw himself at Harry, knocking the piece of brick in his hand to the floor. All the wind was knocked out of Harry, and Draco was a heavy weight on top of him. They lay there, Harry’s chest burning as he struggled for breath, while the room began to hum. Harry looked up to see the brick he had just been holding wobble, and rise in the air along with all the others.

They bobbed a few inches above the floor, their wobbling becoming an erratic oscillation. Beyond the hovering rubble Harry could make out Luna’s moving figure as she continued to go through a series of stylised movements.

A series of sucking and popping noises filled the room as each of the fragments became a blur of localised movement. A puff of smoke rose from each piece, and they fell to the ground, the room suddenly still; Harry realised that Luna had stopped dancing, too. The floor looked strangely pitted, like some alien landscape, and in each shallow crater was a fragment of brick or stone. Not a speck of dust was to be seen in the entire room.

Each piece of stone, of brick, was whole again, but at the cost of the surrounding area.

“We did evacuate everywhere affected, didn’t we?” Harry asked. He had a sudden image of restored homes filled with destroyed people, and shuddered.

“Of course,” said Hermione quickly, although her voice trembled. “I arranged all that while you were recovering earlier.”

Harry became aware that Draco was still draped half across him, and that he was managing to crush the side that was already bruised. He winced, and Draco moved away as though stung.

“You’re hurt,” Draco said, sounding horrified.

“No, no,” Harry said. “It’s fine, I just…” He tried to move, but only managed to get as far as sitting. “I’m a bit bruised, that’s all.”

Immediately, Draco had his wand out and was scanning Harry’s body. “Your energy levels are very low, and you sustained heavy bruising. The magical blasts haven’t done your magic much good, either.” His face was white, the palest Harry had ever seen it. “What were you thinking?” Draco hissed. “You could have been killed!”

“I saw a brick out of pl—”

“You idiot!” Draco was furious. He stalked towards Harry, looking as though he wanted to shake him. Instead, he sat heavily on the ground and put his head on his knees. “I can’t take this,” he whispered. “It’s too much.”

Harry stared. He’d never seen Draco shaken like this before.

Dimly, Harry was aware of Hermione watching this whole exchange. “Harry, go home,” she said from behind Draco. “Let Draco take you.”

Draco’s whole body stiffened at the mention of his name, but he looked up at Harry. The naked look in his eyes sent a shock through Harry. Draco looked so unhappy.

Slowly, Draco got to his feet. Harry didn’t know what to say, but accepted Draco’s arm once proffered. In fact, he clung onto Draco, grateful for the support.

“I’ll side-along you,” said Draco in a quiet, weary but determined voice. “Can we Apparate to inside your home, or do we need to stay outside?”

“If you’re with me, inside.”

Draco’s arm tightened around Harry’s middle, and everything spun, squeezed and went black.

*

“I can’t believe this is the second time I’ve had to take you home today.”

Harry’s room was exactly as he’d left it. The sheets were still tangled from his earlier sleep, and he noticed now that a chair was pulled up by the bed. Had Draco been watching him sleep?

“I’m fine,” Harry protested, as his legs gave way again at the sight of the bed. He leaned even more into Draco, grateful for the support. Even though he ached all over, Draco’s warmth by his side made him happy in a way that made Harry think that perhaps he should get injured every day if it meant he got to spend this much time like this. “I just need a potion. Y’know, a healing one. I’ve got some next door. Bathroom cabinet.”

“I’m putting you in bed first,” Draco said. “And maybe this time you’ll stay there.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “Depends if there’s anything worth getting out of it for.” He lowered his voice. “Or anyone.”

Draco looked pained. “You’re not yourself,” he said. “You should never have gone out again. I should never have let you.”

“You looked after me,” Harry said. “You saved me again, too.” He felt light-headed, almost drunk. Draco was probably right about it having been a bad idea, getting out of bed earlier on, but Harry didn’t care. This might be the closest he’d ever get to spending time in Draco’s arms, and it had been painful but also wonderful. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Draco said. “I’d do it for anyone I…” He took a deep breath. “I better get that potion.”

“I want to tell you something,” Harry said. Surely now, after everything else, he could tell Draco how he felt. “I…” He tried, but he couldn’t say it. He had been holding onto these feelings for so long, the words wouldn’t come out. “The potion’s in a green bottle. Emerald green,” he said instead.

Draco nodded, and headed off out the door. He moved slowly, and Harry wondered how tired and sore Draco was, too. He heard the click of a door opening, and then a long silence.

“Harry,” came Draco’s strangled voice. “What the fuck is this?”

Harry sat up. “What?”

Draco appeared at the door, the potion bottle in his hand and a wide-eyed expression on his face. He thrust the bottle at Harry, waited for him to take a swig of it, then took some himself.

“What the fuck,” he said again, enunciating each word clearly, “is that statue in the room next door?”

“Oh,” said Harry. “The statue.” The potion was beginning to work; Harry felt warmth course through his body, and his aches and pains begin to fade away. His mind, though, still felt sluggish. He shook his head to clear it. “It’s big, I know.”

“I’m not concerned with its _size_.” Draco sounded positively beside himself.

Harry looked blank, unsure what all the excitement was about. “It’s just an angel.” He sighed, thinking of it. “My beautiful angel.”

Draco stared at him, and said slowly, “It’s not just an angel.”

“I—”

“Come here and tell me what you see.”

Gingerly, Harry swung his legs out of bed and tried his weight on the floor. His potion had worked wonders, and nothing hurt any more. His head, too, was beginning to feel less fuzzy.

The angel’s robes and wings filled the room, but as usual it was the face Harry was drawn to. He stood at the edge of the spare room and looked at his angel, searching for the calm and serenity that he’d always associated with looking at it. Rather than the usual soothing feeling this brought, Harry’s insides began to knot into a familiar ball of tension, the way they did when looking at Draco.

Harry frowned.

The angel. The one he’d bought despite it not fitting in any room in his house, because it was so beautiful. Because Harry could stare at it for hours, and always felt a jolt of recognition, of connection when he did. _His_ angel, with its delicate features, the high cheekbones, the almost-pointy chin, the elegant drape of its robes and the arch of its body…

All air seemed to drain out of the room, as Harry took in every detail of his angel. The swish of the angel’s hair, if only it were a pale, white-blond would look exactly like—

Harry looked to Draco, standing beside him, confusion in his eyes.

Draco Malfoy.

His angel looked exactly like Draco. Same eyes, same lips, same elegant fingers and slim hips. How had he never seen it before?

Harry’s reverie was interrupted by a soft touch to his arm. He looked down to see Draco’s hand resting there.

“Harry,” Draco said, in almost a whisper.

He looked up. Draco didn’t move his hand, but was looking at him, hope and fear mingled in his gaze. It still took Harry a few long seconds to understand what was happening, to understand why Draco was looking so flushed.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Harry said.

Draco’s smile was tentative, but immediate. He nodded. “Have you not noticed before?”

Harry shook his head, and looked back at the statue. Now he saw it, he didn’t know how he could possibly have missed it before. He thought back to everyone else’s reactions, to Hermione’s knowing looks and Ron’s spluttering. He must have been the only one not to see that he’d been in love with Draco sodding Malfoy for years.

_Oh._

“How long have you had it?”

“Since before you came back to England. I… I didn’t know it was… I didn’t see the resemblance.”

“What _do_ they teach you as Aurors?” Draco shook his head, but he was still smiling and his fingers were still resting lightly on Harry’s arm. His eyes though, were like fire.

Harry realised that he was trembling, and wondered if Draco could feel it, could tell how it felt as though Harry’s body had come alive after a long sleep, energy coursing through him. But Harry couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. It couldn’t possibly be real. Draco’s tongue wet his lips, and suddenly they were all Harry could see. What would it be like, to wrap his hand around Draco’s neck and pull him in, to be so close he could feel the heat of Draco’s breath? How would it feel to look into those constantly changing eyes, and then close his own and lose himself to a kiss?

“I… I wasn’t ready to see.”

“But you are now.”

Harry gulped, but nodded. His voice shook when he spoke. “I couldn’t see before, but now you’re all I can see.”

Draco’s wrist was slim and hot beneath Harry’s fingers, nothing like his angel at all. The same heat Harry had seen in Draco’s eyes surged through Harry as he finally took the plunge and pulled Draco in close.

“You are the most oblivious, unobservant, scruffy man I have ever met,” Draco said into his neck. “I could quite happily kill you.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Harry said, his lips tracing the heat of Draco’s cheek until they found his mouth. Draco’s lips were thinner and firmer than Harry had imagined, and they pressed into his in a tentative kiss.

When they broke apart, all Harry could say was, “Oh.”

“Good ‘Oh’?”

“Oh yes,” said Harry, and he leant in for another kiss. This one was stronger, more urgent. Harry’s hand rose to the back of Draco’s head, and he felt Draco’s hand moving around to the small of his back.

They paused, their foreheads resting together.

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” Harry said.

“Oblivious, remember?” Draco said with a laugh that Harry felt as a rumble through his own body. “Although it would have put a different spin on our time at school.”

Draco stopped Harry from asking any more questions by kissing him. Harry thought it the best kiss ever. And the next. After that, the kisses stopped having beginnings or ends, and the next time Harry broke for breath, Draco’s hand was under his t-shirt and Harry’s hand was down the back of Draco’s trousers.

“I… I want…” Harry couldn’t put it into words. He hoped Draco would understand.

Draco’s eyes flared wider. And then he laughed, and pulled Harry back into his bedroom. “At least there isn’t a more-than-life-sized statue of me as a fucking angel in here. I don’t think I could… well, do this with it watching.”

Harry pulled his t-shirt over his head, but Draco pulled back in horror.

“Your side, Harry,” he said, touching his hand to the bruises and scrapes running down Harry’s side, across his hip and down one leg.

“I can’t feel a thing,” Harry said. “That potion is the best: it’s what Hermione used to brew for Ron when he was still an Auror.”

Draco groaned. “Must you bring your ginger friend up again, now? Or are you going to do this every time?”

Harry couldn’t help the grin that broke out across his face at the thought of getting naked with Draco again and again. “Well, carrot is the colour of love, after all.”

“Oh Merlin, you _are_ turned on by him, aren’t you?”

“No!” Harry laughed and pushed Draco onto the bed. “I like my men fairer—” He stopped, the memory of another conversation swimming to the surface of his mind. “Were you talking about… me? When you said you liked your men darker?”

Draco pulled Harry on top of him. “Like I said, most oblivious man, ever.” He kissed Harry under his chin, across his neck. “You reminded me of a brick, sometimes. A great big obtuse baked clod of clay.”

Protesting seemed futile while the words were interspersed with soft, hungry touches of Draco’s mouth, and Harry was finally understanding why ‘toe-curling’ was used to describe kisses when Draco found his mouth.

There were far too many buttons on Draco’s shirt, and Harry tried tugging at it to pull it off, but it remained neatly buttoned up. He managed to pull it out of Draco’s trousers, and admired the lean body this revealed. The skin was pale, dusted with gold hairs, and too inviting to ignore. Everything Harry saw, he wanted to touch, to taste. His mouth watered at the thought. Harry shifted over to support his weight on one elbow, then bent down to kiss Draco’s stomach. Draco was warm, and Harry could hear the shuddering flutter of his breath above him. His skin smelled like heat, like being close and it tastes like Draco’s kisses, too. Harry kissed around the dark dip of his navel, and then along the line of hair that disappeared into Draco’s trousers.

“These better be easier to remove than your bloody shirt.”

“Shut up and keep moving,” Draco said.

Harry managed to get the trousers undone without too much difficulty, and dragged them down, Draco moving to help. The long, hard shape of Draco’s cock was pressed against his underwear, and Harry pressed kisses along its length.

Draco groaned. “You could have pulled it all off at once, you know.”

“Are you going to be bossy in bed, too?” Harry asked, only half mocking.

“Only if you need direction,” Draco said. “I have standards, you know.”

Harry took this to be a challenge, and he always won when it came to competitions with Draco. Why should this be any different? He pulled down Draco’s underwear, admiring the way his cock sprang free, before licking the juncture between thigh and groin. Draco arched off the bed. Next, Harry licked Draco’s balls, took them into his mouth, and revelled in the heady scent of man. He ignored the cock bobbing beside his face, and worked his way lower, teasing the skin.

“Fuck!”

Harry grinned. He was definitely going to win this competition.

When he actually took Draco’s cock in his mouth – teasing, first, running his tongue around the head – he was forced to rethink his plan, because he nearly came in his pants.

Draco growled. “I said, keep mov—”

Harry cut him off by taking him as deep as he could. Mercifully, Draco shut up, and Harry hoped he didn’t notice his moment’s panic at having so much in his mouth. Although he knew the theory, as it were, this was all still fairly new to him. He worked out how much he could take, what to do with his hands, and set to making Draco quite certain about who was winning this thing.

What he hadn’t anticipated was how painfully hot the whole experience was. Harry’s own penis was still trapped in his clothes, tight, hot, and harder than it had ever been. As he worked on Draco, Harry he found himself rutting against the bed, too, his senses narrowed to the sounds and the tastes, his vision a blur.

Given the sounds Draco began to make, Harry really shouldn’t have been surprised when Draco’s cock twitched and throbbed and Draco let out an almighty yell as he came in Harry’s mouth. Harry was so surprised though, that he simultaneously spluttered, groaned, and came himself, leaving him in a shuddering sticky heap, collapsed on the bed.

They both lay there, panting.

“Did you just…?”

“Yes,” said Harry, mortified. And when he raised himself up and saw the shit-eating grin on Draco’s face, he realised to his horror that this meant he had definitely lost this round. In frustration, he kicked off his clothes, and turned his attention back to Draco’s still-buttoned shirt. He tugged so hard on it, the two of them ended falling to the floor with a bump.

Draco caught him up in a fierce kiss. Harry’s hands, still wound up in the shirt, clung tighter, pulling Draco as tight to him as he could. They sat, half naked and entwined, in the shadow of the bed for a while. When Harry pulled back, Draco’s lips were red and shiny from kissing, and he was sure his were much the same.

“I’ve never.. not the whole… not _everything_...” Harry began, feeling the need to explain.

Draco pressed a finger to Harry’s lips. “Neither have I. But… I’d like to. With you.” he lowered his hand. “We can work out the details as we go.”

Harry looked at him, wondering how they’d got to this point, but feeling brimful of happiness, and relieved that they finally had. “One time, when Ron was drunk, he told me something about that potion,” Harry said.

“Not Weasley again!” Draco said. “You’re obsessed.”

“Shh.” Harry moved his hand to Draco’s lap, and cupped his balls then began to massage his cock into a semi-erect state. “He told me—”

Draco groaned. “I cannot believe you’re still talking about him while you have my cock in your hand.”

“He told me,” Harry continued, as though Draco hadn’t spoken, “that the potion has an interesting side effect. On, er,” he squeezed, gently. “You can keep going for hours, because it lends itself to very quick recovery times and lots of energy, as well as its healing effect.”

“Oh yes?” Draco’s eyes lit up. “I suppose I could forgive you mentioning him, this time.”

Harry eased Draco back up towards the bed, positioning him so he was lying down, his legs hanging off its edge. “I wasn’t quite finished before,” he said, and spread Draco’s legs, better to see his pink and rising cock, and balls, and the stretch of skin below. He ran a finger along it, moving down until he was circling Draco’s hole. Draco yelped, then relaxed, a heated wave of blush spreading from his face and under the still-present shirt.

Deciding that every bit would help, Harry spent some time with fingers and his tongue, working Draco until he was a yowling, writhing mess. When he Summoned the lube from his bedside drawer, Draco didn’t appear to be capable of words any more, only greedy looks and half-formed moans.

Harry, not quite believing his luck, looked down at the messy, sweaty man sprawled on his bed. He leant forward, and caught Draco’s hot mouth in a kiss. Everything about this felt right: Draco’s body against his, the way he smelt, the touch of sweat on skin.

More tenderly than he’d imagined, Harry lined up his cock, the ache of his need in his balls and his thighs rising to unimaginable levels, and pushed in.

He’d been wrong before: this was the moment when everything finally felt right. A long moan escaped his lips as he eased himself in. He opened his eyes, desperate to see Draco’s face. Draco’s mouth was half-open, his eyes half-shut.

“Fucking. Move,” Draco ground out, and if Harry hadn’t been so caught up in the bodily sensations of his cock, squeezed tight in Draco’s heat, he might have laughed. His legs shook as he held onto Draco’s thighs and began to move.

Each thrust felt even better than the last, with Draco writhing and moaning and the heated sound of skin on skin, of Harry’s groans with each pounding movement. He wanted to be in Draco; he wanted to feel all of Draco, inside and out. He pulled them close in a sticky, sweaty kiss, his mouth tearing at Draco’s in an effort to have him all, taste everything.

Harry pulled back and picked up the rhythm. Beneath him, Draco’s eyes were shut tight and he looked to be utterly lost in the sensation of being fucked. Draco’s cock strained between them, leaking. Seeing Draco like this was what drove Harry over the edge: Harry’s heart squeezed as though it were in a vice, and his thighs tingled and burned, and then he came, aware as he did so of Draco’s hand moving like a blur on his own cock, and then of hot spurts as Draco came too.

Harry pulled out, and dropped onto the bed beside Draco.

“That was…” Harry trailed off, needing to get his breath back.

Draco turned to him, sought his fingers out, and squeezed them gently.

“You must remind me to thank Granger for her inventiveness,” he said, eventually.

Harry stared at him, then grinned. “And I’m going to buy you some new shirts. Easy off.”

Draco looked down. His shirt was now open, torn, stained and sweaty. Harry had ripped the buttons off, in the end. They looked at each other, then laughed.

Pulling the sheets over themselves, not caring how sticky or sweaty they were, Harry and Draco went to sleep. As he drifted off, Harry decided that this was a competition with no end, and it didn’t matter who won or lost. Or rather, they had both won.

 

*********

_Epilogue_

On Harry’s 25th birthday, he reflected on how much could change in a year. His house now felt much more like a home, for one. Maybe it was because Draco had moved in, or maybe it was because it was currently filled with all his friends, laughing and talking, and, in Luna’s case, dancing on the stairs.

“Harry!” An excited Teddy ran into him. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Andromeda, who was stood by the front door already. He knelt down so that he was the same height as Teddy. “It’s late for a little boy,” Harry said. “You need to go home, go to bed.”

Teddy pouted.

“You’ve sung me happy birthday and had some cake. And we’re going to see each other next weekend, aren’t we? You can show me how well you can ride your bike.”

“I can do it all by myself now,” said Teddy, puffing out his chest.

“You can? Fantastic.” Harry had already heard all about it from Andromeda. “So you go now, and next week I’ll come to see you.”

“OK,” Teddy said, the pouting forgotten.

After Harry had waved them off, he went back into the living room. The statue had been reinstated in the corner, shrunk enough to fit on a sideboard. Someone had draped a neon green feather boa around its neck, but to Harry it still looked as beautiful as ever. Everytime he saw it now, he wondered how he could ever have missed that his statue looked so like Draco. At least it had made telling his friends that they were now together a doddle. Each and every one of them had heaved a sigh of relief and then teased him about the statue. Even Ron, although he did still run through the shades from puce to fuschia when he saw Harry and Draco holding hands.

Harry moved on; he was looking for Neville, who’d been in the middle of telling him about his new job at a wizarding nursery, growing plants. Neville hoped it would be the step up he needed to finally teaching at Hog—

Harry froze. Neville was sitting by the open window, looking like a rabbit in the headlights. Pansy was smoking, idly dropping ash onto the window ledge. She also had her hand on his knee.

“I’d let it run its course,” Draco said behind him. “Once she sets her sights on someone, there’s no turning back.”

“Is that what she did to you? Because she once told me—”

“She had the wrong equipment. And I was more stubborn than her.”

Draco draped an arm around Harry, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. Somewhere, Harry was sure, Ron was turning the colour of a raspberry. He didn’t care, and pulled Draco in for something slightly less chaste.

“And I’m glad of it,” said Harry. “Seeing as it took so long for me to realise that we liked each other.”

“Such a clod,” Draco said affectionately.

One by one, their guests tired and left. Pansy and Neville had disappeared earlier, hands in places Harry didn’t want to think about. The last person to leave was Hermione. She whispered something in Draco’s ear that made him blush furiously, but he took the parcel she offered and handed it to Harry.

“Do I want to know what that was?”

“More of her _special_ potion. She didn’t want to have to explain it in front of the others.”

“Oh. Brilliant.” Despite himself, Harry’s dick began to stir. Hermione really was the cleverest witch in her generation.

Before they went up to bed, Harry hung his party hat on the statue’s head. He looked at it once more, smiled, then went up to join Draco for his final present of the day.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/53084.html). ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at [hd_erised @ livejournal.com](http://hd_erised.livejournal.com/). The author will be revealed January 8th.


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